


So Many Words Never Said

by Snowmanmelting



Category: My Little Pony, My Little Pony: Equestria Girls, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe, I Don't Even Know, Nothing explicit I swear to god, Sorry Not Sorry, There's SunLight but kinda in the background lol, What Have I Done
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-03-26 16:58:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 33,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13861995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowmanmelting/pseuds/Snowmanmelting
Summary: It was a simple dynamic. Simple enough that it didn't require any questions, only the unspoken agreement to remain silent. It only required Twilight broken into pieces, so she could never pull herself back together again.It only required a list in a torn sheet of paper to question it all.Version 3.0 Fixed a lot of stuff! Hope this is much better to read than before.





	1. So Many Roads Still to Know

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [So Many Words Never Said](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/395930) by Snowmanmelting. 



> Trigger warning: Suggestions of sensitive topics such as abuse and eating disorders.
> 
> Tittle based on the song 'So many words' go listen to it!
> 
> Anyways, I hope you like this story and feel free to leave a comment to express your feelings about this. I like to chat, haha.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: Thanks to Jay Tarrant in Fimfiction for helping to proofread this entire thing.  
> I've also fixed some other details here and there, hope this is better.

"I don’t get how you do it.”

At the sudden comment, Twilight stopped copying was underlined in the textbook to her notebook and turned her eyes to her friend sitting opposite to her. Sunset's words were somewhat stifled by having her face buried in her own book, probably still on the first page of the chapter assigned to read.

“Do what, exactly?” Twilight inquired, frowning in confusion.

“Understand this guy!” exclaimed her friend, raising her head to put the reddish hair with golden locks on a bun. Which would most likely last less than a second in the absence of an elastic band to hold it. “Between the time jumps and the anecdotal comments, I think my head is going to explode.”

“It’s not  _that_  bad.” Sunset arched an eyebrow, her hair untied on its own in almost perfect timing. “Okay, yes, it's unbearable and it also exasperates me. But after the second reading you get used to it.”

“How many times did you read it?” The redhead arched both eyebrows this time.

“Only two, if we don’t count this one because it’s to synthesize the most important parts and from there organize all the temporalities. I'm not  _that_  nerdy.” A nerd would probably read it three more times until it was completely memorized on the same day, she was only diligent.

Sunset rolled her eyes in response, taking a sip of her coffee. Students were not supposed to bring food or drinks to the library, according to the small cardboard posters on each of the tables. But as long as you were friendly with the librarian on duty, the tables were kept clean, and no type of chaos was unleashed, that rule was technically nonexistent. Not to mention that a good dose of caffeine at three thirty in the afternoon was quite useful, as well as extra necessary.

“I noticed. Never thought you would fall asleep after Rainbow Dash in the Literature screening,” the redhead commented with a smirk.

“In my defense, I made a report of that movie last year at my other school,” Twilight said, enumerating with her fingers in some kind of emphasis. “And I slept about four hours... I think.”

Remembering how little she had managed to sleep the night before, she felt the need to take a sip of her own coffee. Both to suppress a tired yawn and to soothe, with the heat of the drink, the uncomfortable tingle that ran up her spine when remembering why, exactly.

“Did a new documentary come out?”

“Two, actually,” Twilight answered, cleaning the lenses of her glasses with the edge of her sweater. This morning, to top it all off, she had gotten up so late that the idea of wearing contact lenses did not cross her mind until an hour later, much less bringing them to be put on later. It wasn't that the glasses were uncomfortable, but they held with so much inadequacy on the bridge of the nose that sometimes she would catch herself accommodating them back on by force of habit.

“You know, one of these days we have to do a movie marathon.” Now with the crystals totally polished, she could clearly see Sunset distracted on her cell phone. They definitely would not achieve too much today. “I haven’t seen a quarter of the so-called classics yet.”

"Sounds good, I have a pair that I'm sure you'll like.” A pause. “But you know what sounds better?"

"...Going to the movies?" Sunset offered, already knowing her friend with glasses and neat buns enough to know where she was going.

"No. Finishing this thing.”

Again, her classmate buried her face in the book, growling in frustration. And after accepting defeat, she gathered the will to start reading.

Taking advantage that one of the teachers of the last hour of the day had been absent, they decided to come to the library to advance in a bit of the assigned homework in a subject that they both shared. Not that Twilight wanted to be a party pooper or that she liked to answer thirty questions based on a tedious test. But if she managed to advance with at least the first part now, maybe when she got home she could get some rest.

A couple more minutes of silence passed, only the occasional sound of some students here and there since they were in the quieter and more distant part of the library. Without taking into account the fact that on a Tuesday afternoon two months away from the exams, there would not be too many students.

Until a short vibration that spread across the table alerted Sunset Shimmer of a new notification on her cell phone.

"Did something happen?" Twilight inquired when seeing her friend typing with a frown.

"It's Twilight. Uh, the other Twilight." Sunset looked at her for a second and then back at the screen. “Is it okay if she comes now? She told me she wants to talk to you about something."

Oh, the  _other_  Twilight Sparkle, the one who came from a parallel world of... sapient equines? She had been so stunned the moment she saw her coming out from the base of the school statue, that she had to listen to the explanation about three times to actually process it. At first, Twilight started laughing and considered calling an ambulance for the psychiatric hospital. The second she felt that the boundary between reality and the fictitious became so increasingly absurd that she had to ask for a third explanation, in which she bombarded her doppelganger with questions.

Not that she seemed to have any trouble answering them.

"Sure, I guess." Twilight shrugged. "Though I don't know what she would want to talk about."

Sunset returned the gesture.

"I have no idea" Another message notification, more intense tapping. And Twilight realized an inconsistency.

"Wait, I thought there was no advanced technology in Eque...stria?" It always happened that in spite of her good memory the simple names or everyday facts sometimes escaped her, but a nod from the redhead confirmed that she was pronouncing it right.

"Nope, there isn't. She's here doing I-don't-know-what since this morning. But I had to get her a phone when I told her she couldn't investigate mine. You know how Twilight is when she wants to research something." Sunset smirked. That comment referred to both her and her doppelganger. Both were quite different, however, the curiosity and desire to learn were probably shared characteristics.

Twilight replied with a simple ‘aha’ and an eye roll, her own lip corners lifting up in a small smile. With Sunset, she always felt comfortable enough to loosen up a little more than usual. Maybe it was the fact that their first conversation was during a dual task in Advanced Calculus, and not every day did Twilight meet someone who could follow her train of thought.

They spent a few more minutes chatting about things that had nothing to do with anything until Sunset made a gesture with her arm to get the attention of the other Twilight Sparkle. Who, upon seeing it, soon returned it with her typical enthusiasm, slipping between the tables taking care not to disturb the rest of the students and taking the seat next to the redhead.

“Hey! How are you doing?” The supposed Princess greeted, taking off the hood of her hoodie to fix her hair. It was a little precautionary measure to avoid confusion or problems. At first glance, both might look exactly the same, but it was enough to have them stand side by side to notice they were not exactly like two drops of water. One of the most notable differences was the variation in height, Twilight being almost three centimeters shorter than her doppelganger. Who also somehow looked a little more mature as if she had struck the last growth spurt of the eighteen years. Even so, the white lie that they were slightly different twins worked without any problem when necessary.

“Suffering.” The redhead grimaced in disgust, looking at the book.

“Suffer--? Do you have an exam soon? You should have told me, I can come at another time, really. I don't want you to lose study time because of me, I know how important it is to appro--“

“Sunset said you wanted to talk to me about something?” Twilight interrupted, who would now become Sparkle by mutual conciliation to avoid misunderstandings, while her clone would take the first name of both of them. Not like she ever had a problem, she preferred her second name more than the first.

Twilight, Sparkle’s doppelganger, looked at her for a second, as if she had forgotten what she had come to do in the first place.

"Oh, right! I Just... realized something that we never analyzed when we considered the parallel spectrum between our worlds." When Twilight noticed the curious look of both Sunset and Sparkle, she knew she had their full attention. "You'll see, the other day I went to visit my mother and looking at the family albums it made me wonder...”

She breathed in through her nose slowly.  _Well, here we go._

“You live with your biological family, right?”

Sparkle blinked, quite confused, but nodded anyway.

“Aha,” she answered in the same way. “I live with my parents. My brother moved out when he got married. But I think we've talked about that before, why?”

Indeed, they had already discussed that last topic. Twilight’s brother and sister-in-law seemed to be quite similar to their counterparts in Equestria and followed a line of events of relatively similar temporality. However that was not the focus, but the use of the plural for a specific word, that raised the probability that this conversation would become much less pleasant than it already was.

"Wait, you said parents.” Now it was Twilight's turn to frown in apparent confusion. "You mean that Night Light is still alive here, right?" It was more an affirmation than a question, one that she hoped sounded as casual as she proposed to.

"Yes,” Sparkle said imitating the gesture, surprised. "...Did your father die in your world?" she asked with genuine caution, both as not to offend and for the morbid curiosity that did not escape her eyes.

“When I was about ten,” Twilight lowered her voice a little, only to reaffirm her seriousness about the subject. And the supposed melancholy that should be possessed when talking about someone close who is no longer with you. She felt Sunset take her hoo-- hand under the table in an attempt to comfort her, and she responded with a little squeeze from her part but said nothing else, focused on Sparkle's reaction.

Her counterpart seemed to forget to blink for a moment, and in spite of her inert expression, as if she had realized something, her eyes twinkled with a strange brightness. One of hate, or maybe one of envy. Sparkle’s shoulders tensed in a controlled manner. For some reason, she did not look comfortable at all with that idea.

However, it was likely that good manners dictated that she had to give some kind of condolence for being the one who encouraged the response. So when Twilight realized that her counterpart was going to do just that, she interrupted her. She didn't need to hear something that would be a lie, especially because she couldn't care any less.

“You don’t need to say anything.”  _I’m not sorry, either._  “It was a long time ago, really.”

Twilight gave her a small smile of comfort and Sparkle seemed to accept it, still trying to decipher what exactly were the intentions of her counterpart.

Ten seconds of uncomfortable silence passed, where none of the three said a word. And surely it would get worse, judging by the horrible feeling that was forming in her stomach. It wasn't as simple as it seemed.

“I still don’t understand,” began Sparkle, slowly. “Why are you asking me all of this?”

Sparkle talked with genuine curiosity in her voice. According to the little information the ex-unicorn had been able to collect based on comments from her friends on this side of the portal, she did not talk about her family unless it was her brother, and always had an excuse to avoid any type of social gathering in her house. Then, logically, she would be struck by the fact that her other self tried to address those topics. Not to mention that Twilight avoided going directly to the proper point even when asked the first time. Now that she had inquired again, it was better to give her the information she wanted or she was sure she would not be asked a third time.

“Like I said, it made me wonder about something.”

The former unicorn inhaled slowly, feeling an uncomfortable tingling in the middle of the back. Her free hand tightened the paper in the pocket of her hoodie almost unconsciously. She wished she was wrong. Wished this was all a damn misunderstanding on her part and within an hour Sunset would be giving her a lecture about why it was wrong to ask what she was going to ask.

“Does Night Light keep going to your room, at night?”

The question was as soft and subtle as a sudden blow to the face could be. Still, Twilight was sure that it had a load of fair and necessary meanings to be understood perfectly. Said in some other way, she would fall victim to previously planned excuses or would end up with a throbbing cheek. Sparkle was smart enough to know when to protect herself, even if it meant taking shelter in her own injustice and even justifying it. For that reason, the best thing was to act directly. Without losing sensibility to not generate a totally defensive attitude, but also without deviating from the point in question.

"What are you trying to say, Twi?" Sunset inquired with caution under her breath. Twilight only raised a hand under the table to let her handle the situation, just as she had asked before.

Sparkle did not seem to listen to the redhead, focusing on holding Twilight's gaze. If she based this on her own experience, she would still hear excuses and justifications. But body language never failed, and that's where she got authentic expressions. Sparkle lost all kind of sign of good humor, with the emotion of surprise lasting probably longer than expected, judging from the quick transition of a slightly wrinkled forehead to a frown of indignation. Her counterpart held her gaze for another couple of seconds, in a suspicious search of how such information was obtained, to then realize that it was her  _self_  from a parallel dimension.

“Where did you get such idea?” Sparkle finally responded, with an indignation that was not as well executed as the tone of offense. The latter, Twilight supposed, should be genuine for more reasons than she could get to speculate. Though she was sure that some of it involved daring to speculate enough to ask accurate questions. "I'm fine.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that Sunset relaxed her shoulders that at some point had tensed. Only a little, as if she was not entirely convinced by the seemingly obvious response. One could say that both agreed that it was an answer they expected to hear. The difference was that, while the redhead was hoping that her friend really was okay, Twilight understood that it was a mere automatic defense mechanism.

"Are you really sure about that?" asked the ex-unicorn under her breath, not with the intention of questioning her word or credibility, but with genuine concern. If in fact, things were that way, if Sparkle really was in a healthy family environment, then the previous expressions would not have appeared, the surprise would be as genuine as the disgust, and answering that nothing happened would have been a response as obvious as natural and fluid.

However, when seeking for her gaze Twilight found a defiant one. One who warned her that if she continued to play with fire both would end up in ashes, and at the same time contradicted itself by begging her to do so.

"No one is going to judge you if you say no, Sparks,” Sunset spoke softly, the ghost of a smile adorning her lips. Twilight was not sure exactly what she meant; she supposed it would have to do with something personal of the two. They were friends, after all.

Be that as it may, Sparkle turned her still fiery gaze towards the redhead, possibly offended by the fact that she had decided to take sides. Sunset had no problem sustaining her, calm but intense, to show her that she was serious.

The one with glasses ended up taking them off, and in spite of the blurred vision, she could see how the figures in front of her took a little more relaxed posture. She filled her lungs with air, and let it out in a heavy sigh. Sparkle had no idea how the hell she did not see this conversation coming. Though she expected something more subtle from her clone. Who would say that the one who articulated with a straight back and carried their dignity like the Queen of England, could be as direct as... as Sparkle would have been if the situation was reversed. Of course the latter would happen the day she could sleep in peace, and it was probable that she had to be dead first to achieve it.

Whatever. Time to change tactics.

“It has nothing to do with that, Sunset. I... Look, I appreciate the intention, really. But you don’t have to worry about anything, ok?” she chose to speak calmly while massaging the bridge of her nose to appease her headache. She wasn’t sure if it was because of the whole situation or the damn lenses. Probably the second. “Nothing… happens at home, seriously.”

Pff! Sparkle was always very good at lying. She even dared to say that more than fifty percent of her daily activities involved lying at some point. But for some disappointing reason, she heard herself very unconvincing. Even so, the primary objective wasn't to tell lies with a certain degree of accuracy, only to convince.

"I'm sorry if I reacted badly.” That was true, though not her fault. She set out to find the disposable tissues to clean the lenses, another bad habit. "It's just... yesterday I started a new project that took me most of the night and I couldn't sleep much so--"

"Sparks..." Sunset interrupted her, with a tone that she couldn't recognize at all.

"...What?" Sparkle stopped blinking at the red figure, tissue in hand, glasses in the other.

"You said you stayed awake watching documentaries.”

 _You had to be stupid_. Sparkle was good at lying, especially when it came to spontaneous falsehoods.

A bit of fogging in the glasses, a couple of horizontal movements with the disposable tissues (never circular, since that scratched the anti-reflex) and they were like five minutes ago: neat and polished.

"Documentaries or magazines are triggers of my research projects, I don't see the inconsistency.” What she could see, with her sight again clear, was the little conviction that her words created. She tried to look casual and take a sip of the coffee that was getting cold. Too bitter.

Several minutes passed where the silence became palpable and uncomfortable. And somehow, the looks towards her person made her feel smaller than usual. She looked for her phone to check the time. About twenty minutes before the end of the school day. Maybe it would be best to pick up her things and leave, to end the conversation where it should before she ended up doing something stupid.

"Sparkle, please look at me.” When she looked back at Twilight, she again found her trying to engage her in staring games. She hated the games of visual wordiness. "Look at me and tell me nothing happens and I promise that you will never again hear me say a word on the matter. Even if you want, don't ever speak to me again. But please be honest.”

Sparkle had to dig her nails into her palms until her forearms shook. Didn't she know when to surrender? Or did she like to see her lose?

Sparkle crossed her arms, leaning on the back of the chair with the dignity that she always liked to pretend to possess (if her clone looked like that with so little effort, it was likely that she would too, right?) when she realized Twilight's intention to stretch an arm towards her.

Sparkle wasn't (so) stupid, nor transparent and much less  _fragile_.

But deep down she was sure that Twilight was right, and she couldn't say anything to her face without sounding like she was trying to fool her. Who would have the courage to lie to their mature and beautiful mirror? What could she do?

For a moment, a mere moment, she set out to challenge her with a totally annoyed look that invited her to make an introspection to her own life as a pompous Princess (for not using vulgar terms, she was much better than that). But she ended giving up when she realized that this time in her eyes there was a different shine.

An exaggerated shimmer that moved swiftly between white corneas and violet irises. A twinkle of impotence. A spark of despair. A reflection of anguish.

A shine of empathy. A resplendence of one's own experience.

For some reason, giving her the benefit of the doubt didn't seem like a bad idea. So, in the absence of a white flag to admit defeat and openness to negotiations as a war commander in the middle of the Han Dynasty, Sparkle decided to turn the page in her notebook, leaving up with a sharp blow all the blank pages that were waiting to be used within the next few weeks.

"What are you trying to get at?" Sparkle inquired softly with genuine curiosity, looking back at Twilight, who seemed to understand the message (Sunset still gave them curious glances), and finally relaxed her upright posture when speaking again.

"We want to help.”

Sparkle stopped short, processing the sentence she had just heard. It was something so incredulous and stupid that it made her want to laugh, no matter how forced it was. Help? What? Twilight had previously said that her father died as a child. What could she do, then? Magic? Go back in time? Every idea that occurred to her was more absurd.

There was nothing to do.

"There's nothing you can help with,” Sparkle tried to control the voice, to avoid sounding too sharp or too displeased, tried a normal tone. But all she achieved was a low and mediocre one.

There was nothing more to talk about either. Because deciding to lose did not necessarily mean to admit, much less to accept.

Again, another disturbing and perceptible silence and, in a certain way, the contemplations towards her person made her feel smaller than usual.

She went back to look in her jacket pocket for the phone to check the time. About twelve minutes to end the school day. Maybe it would be best to pick up her things and leave, to end the conversation before her tongue would (again) loosen up and ended up doing more stupid things. No, it was definitely the best thing to do.

"I've been investigating all day,” started her doppelganger, but now with a new plan underway, it was easy to pretend she was not listening. "And if at any time you change your opinion..."

Sparkle did not understand those people who used too many things and therefore took decades to put away their school supplies. She liked to be practical, a small pencil case with the bare minimu, the notebook or folder according to the subjects of the day along with the books following the same utility, and perhaps a book or magazine in case she had to spend some leisure time. Practical, synthetic, structured, simple, fast.

A hand, with her same skin tone, slid across the surface of the table a multi-fold paper. It was small, easy to put in the pocket. As if it was valuable, secret information.

"I made a list of trustworthy help centers, and websites with useful information to which you can access. Everything has twenty-four-hour assistance.”

The white rectangle of paper was on the table, on its own, contrasting with the dark and polished wood.

Sparkle looked up at Twilight, and for a moment, she proposed herself to challenge her with a look that invited her to make introspections of her own life. However, she gave up when she realized that in Twilight's eyes was that different shine.

That shine of empathy, of one's own experience.

"You don’t deserve this, you don't owe him anything.” There, in her voice, was something else. Some fear, or maybe some despair.

Be that as it may, Sparkle still stood up to leave, the backpack on her shoulder and jacket in hand.

She took the paper anyway and put it in her pocket. Only for courtesy.

"That's something neither of us has the power to decide, Twilight."

Her figure disappeared hastily behind the shelves. There were seven minutes left until four thirty in the afternoon, until the end of the school day.

Sunset Shimmer stood up, ready to follow her when a hand on her forearm stopped her. It was a weak grip, not even firm.

"She's not going to listen, Sunset."

She looked back at Twilight, surprised. The determination she had five minutes ago seemed far off in comparison to her dropping shoulders and the look of remorse, fixed on the corner in which Sparkle turned and left.

"If I speak to her like you did, surely not.”

The red-headed advanced anyway, with a firm and hurried pace. She had no idea what she was going to say since Twilight asked to let her handle the matter, but she was not going to leave it at that. If  _something_  was really happening, whatever it was, Sunset wanted to help. No, she  _had_  to help, Sparkle was her friend. She couldn't leave her just like that.

Sparkle was where, by logic and knowledge, Sunset supposed she would find her: her locker. This time was no exception. Therefore, she approached slowly so it did not seem like she wanted to generate any pressure.

"I didn't throw the paper away if that's what you're worried about.”

Sunset blinked, confused.

"I... didn't come for that, actually.”

"Uh-huh, then?" Sparkle finished putting on her coat and closed the locker with more force than usual. She was not looking back at her.

"Sparky..." Sunset did not even have time to put together a coherent sentence, because the girl with the purple hair was, already with the backpack on her shoulder, starting to march towards the front door.

"What happens in my private life isn't your problem.” The redhead hurried to keep up with her. They were not too far from the entrance and though she did not understand the sudden change of mood and similar defensiveness, she had to at least try to insist one more time.

She managed to reach her once outside the institution, at the foot of the stairs at the entrance (Sparkle, when forced, could be much faster than she appeared to in P. E.) and for a moment considered putting a hand on her shoulder. But given the sudden moodiness and the fact that she never seemed too comfortable with physical contact, she decided otherwise.

"Sparky, if you're going through some kind of uncomfortable situation, whatever it is, we can help, okay?" Insisting sometimes proved to be the best tactic with Sparkle, who almost always ended up saying yes, though this sounded more like a plea than anything else. "You are our friend. We care what happens to you."

This was not the case.

"Don’t you understand? There's nothing to do, Sunset!" Sparkle exclaimed with desperate disgust that was reaffirmed in the breaking of the voice. In the slight tremor of the arms that did not manage to go unnoticed when she dropped them to her sides with heaviness. "Stop getting involved in what doesn't concern you.”

Then Sunset watched her turn around and head towards a vehicle that seconds ago was not there. She did not have the slightest knowledge about cars but managed to recognize some models, and that was enough to know that it was brand new and sophisticated. Night Light used to drive it, she had seen it a couple of times when he picked her friend up from group meetings and such.

Sunset clenched her fists. Sparkle was right to be angry if all that surrounded her were dead ends. If she lived constantly in despair.

There was nothing to do. Because they could not do anything.

* * *

It was seventeen minutes past ten o'clock at night. It was young even for a Tuesday, with the noise of vehicular traffic on the avenue still frequent.

Sunset would probably be asleep; Twilight could not say so with certainty because both of them had turned their backs on the shared bed.

What she could say was that, on the other hand, she would not sleep today. Or at least, would not do so in peace.

It had not happened for a long time. A long time ago that certain uncertainties and feelings did not come out from where she had buried them. It was a long time ago that closing her eyes and giving in to tiredness did not scare her. That she was not involved in the uncomfortable tingling that provided little electric touches all over her body and made her hair stand on end.

It was weird, or cynical, maybe. Even as a filly, temporalities were always confusing to her. She had to find some event to remember how old she was in a certain year, and still, remembered perfectly sensations and fears that were over —with a certain relativity— at least six years ago.

Would her human counterpart feel the same? Would she also be involved in paranoia and adrenaline? Maybe she did not care anymore, maybe she did not feel it anymore. Twilight recalled that at some point, as a child, all these things ceased to be significant and became day-to-day. It was like always making a wound in the same place. Why bother to cure it if it would be recreated again it would eventually open up? If the efforts were independent of the facts, then again, why bother?

Her stomach churned just thinking about it. The nausea was present just thinking about it.

And she felt so stupid about today. Sunset was not happy with her way of handling things, Twilight could not say she felt any pride. In fact, it was the opposite.

"Twi..."

That conversation was reproduced before its execution more than ten times inside her head, all with different variations to some extent. None was easy. Reality showed her as clumsy and sentimental in the face of the situation, unable to convince her other self to at least stay and listen to her for five more minutes. It was true that Twilight was the Princess of Friendship and not of Psychology for reasons that were obvious, but still...

"You awake?"

Twilight looked back over her shoulder, Sunset’s attentive and curious cyan gaze, was somehow highlighted with the reflection of the artificial city lights that slipped through the thin curtains of the window room. The purple-haired girl sighed and turned her gaze from the French balcony to the ceiling when turning to lie on her back.

"I don't think I can sleep.”

"That makes two of us, then.”

She was not happy with her way of facing things.

"I'm sorry," Twilight mused, both for Sunset and for the whiteness of the ceiling. "I did everything wrong. I'm a disaster."

She felt a hand upon her left, unclenching the fist in which it was tensed to intertwine their fingers, and Twilight returned the gesture with a little squeeze. Suddenly, it was comforting, a small hint of heat in a body, that despite being wrapped in sheets, felt its temperature getting lower every time.

"...I'm not angry, Twi." The aforementioned looked at the redhead, who had spoken as low as her. As if there was something in the air that kept them from raising their voices. "Only that I would have liked some kind of... I don't know, warning?”

Twilight blinked, confused.

"How? I mean, we talked about it beforehand and I told you by phone.”

This time it was Sunset's turn to sigh with heaviness.

"I know. And I agreed when you said there was something strange going on there. It's just that I thought it was something... More lightweight, I guess? That it could be solved by talking to her parents.” Another sigh, followed by a pause. "I just realized that you were referring to... Well,  _that._ "

"A situation of abuse?" Twilight suggested, taking the liberty to add a degree of self-cynicism.

Sunset finally nodded on the sly. Knowing her, she did not want to mention certain things with the fear of triggering her. But when it came to a childhood like hers, from a past that had already happened, it was difficult to feel restrained by a simple term. Twilight gave her hand another squeeze, just to reassure her.

Things stayed that way, silent, for a good couple of minutes more. She was not sure exactly how many, and did not want to go back to the bad childhood habit of counting them, as well as the steps and its rhythms. Sometimes she got sick of herself for trying to have some kind of control over the stupidest things possible.

"What do we do now, then?" Sunset's concern brought her out (again) of the inevitable self-absorption of the last days. "Call the police? Or are there any special places to make this type of complaints?"

Twilight looked at the ceiling because knowing the redhead, her reaction to what she was going to say would probably not be pleasant.

"We wait,” she said without further ado.

_Three, two, one…_

"How do 'we wait'? We wait until what, Twilight?" Sunset leaned on her elbows, staying over the ex-unicorn's field of vision knowing it was exactly what she wanted to avoid.

"Until she decides to ask for help." She returned the gaze and before Sunset could say anything else, Twilight spoke again. "Do you think she's not going to defend him if someone makes sudden accusations?"

She recalled a similar situation in the first years of having entered Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns, when still the classes were as diverse as what was called here the primary school. A teacher had tried to talk to her in an effort to know what was happening at home, and Twilight was so scared and that the number of excuses she used to justify herself was ridiculous.

"Why defend someone who hurts you?" Sunset frowned. As if Twilight was saying things that brushed the border between reality and ridicule, but at the same time somehow had a coherence of meaning. She might not be the Princess of Psychology, but the years of therapy helped her understand many things.

"Because  _it's not easy_ , Sunset.” Maybe she had used more emphasis than necessary and maybe she also chose to stop lying inert and rearrange herself until seated. "It's not easy to admit that certain things happen. There's much more at stake than you think and probably more than I know since I come from a parallel world. And I dare say that she must believe that she's alone, that she has nowhere to go and no one to turn to. Or why do you think she left today?"

She could not blame Sparkle for her reaction, it was logical. Who would accept right away that they had no control over their lives, over their body? That there were things beyond self-control, either by feelings instilled (or not) of guilt, or shame, or the betrayal of trust, or impotence, or anger. And the list could go on and on in an endless way, because mentioning three or four lines was not enough to describe a whirlwind that changed according to each individual.

And maybe Twilight had also sounded harder than intended when she raised her voice, because Sunset seemed to deflate, trying to read between the lines of something that was clear as water.

"But she's not. She has us. All of us," the tone of discouragement was as visible as her usual gesture of running a hand through her hair when a situation, in a certain way, overwhelmed her.

"That's something you can see, and that I can understand after much more time in therapy than I would like." Twilight tried to be softer this time, and speak with less force. She knew that the redhead had the mere intention of helping her friend, not to complicate things. "If we intervene directly without permission, the only thing we will achieve is her to move away. Through her own will or not."

In her personal case it was enough with another citation after school, but this time with her parents. They did not take long to feel offended and change her from school shift. Well, actually Night Light was the one who decided, Twilight Velvet always chose to follow him.

She never crossed paths with that teacher again. And if she did, it was many years later, because she could not even remember her face.

At that time she was too innocent, too little to understand that telling someone could have made a substantial change, that there were other options, that she had some kind of decision. And Twilight wanted to give her the opportunity she had never had, the opportunity to  _decide_.

Her particular case was not exactly a close, it was just a strange luck that —in a certain way— she unconsciously wanted. One where she had to adapt to the  _normal_ , to a supposed and shocking daily life that she did not know. A new reality where there was no place for counting steps, for insomnia or for showers in the late morning. A reality where yielding to fatigue would not scare her, where being wrapped in an uncomfortable tingling that provided little electric touches all over her body and made her hair stand on end was absurd, as Velvet used to tell her sometimes.

It was absurd because the closet monsters were a figment of the imagination, she said. And yes, it was irrational to fear monsters, they did not exist, they were products of the collective imaginary of children. The only thing that existed with certainty were beings that made decisions, positive or negative, moral or vicious.

Sunset sat reluctantly by her side, saying nothing, not being entirely convinced. Or maybe it had to do with a certain anger towards something in particular, judging by her snort. She was not a hundred percent sure.

"In my experience, it wasn't about the violence, to put it in some way. I... I don't remember violent situations in particular." Among the many insights, she found her tongue betraying the rhythm of thought. "It was more than anything about this... this huge manipulation. All my merits, all my virtues, all that I had, were thanks to Night Light. And if she came to enter the picture, thanks to my mother too."

It could be the fact that once she started talking about certain things she was always subject to the impertinent need to say certain others. Or that she had never told the whole story to the redhead and it was a good opportunity to take away some of the guilt for having told her half-truths. Or maybe she simply wanted to convince her of her point of view at all costs. Or all of the above. Twilight did not have the slightest idea, more than the fact that she needed to make some kind of venting.

"To be able to go to the best school, to have a house to return to, food, a family... Everything, everything was thanks to... thanks to him." She was gesturing too much with her hands, like every time she got too nervous. This entire situation made the nervousness bloom on the skin to the point that if she did not make some kind of catharsis, she was going to have an attack and she was not even sure of what, exactly. "And I... and I had to show my gratitude in some other way besides getting the best GPA in all my classes be-because that was not enough and though s-sometimes I couldn't distinguish certain things from o-others in some way I kn-knew it was wrong but you know that you ca-can't do a-anything and the boundaries become c-confusing and-and--"

And Twilight Sparkle broke. Broke into little pieces that fell through the eyes like the sand flying in the desert. In tremors that lashed against its corporeal structure threatening to take her energies. In a whirlwind of emotions that with mentioning three or four lines were not enough to describe it. And Sunset was there to hold her, to keep her from collapsing. She hugged her firmly, stroked her hair the way she liked best, whispered comforting words in her ear as often as they were necessary until she could breathe with some regularity again. Until the sand stopped moving in the desert and in the distance it gave shape to what appeared to be a small oasis.

"Did you ever... tell anyone? At that time?" She asked slowly, whispering as if there was something in the air that prevented them from raising their voices.

"Once." She took a breath, or maybe four, she could not count them at that moment. "Once they called my attention, at school, but I couldn't say anything. I was scared, you know? I thought my family would leave me on the street. That I would lose everything... That no one would want a little girl like that."

Through the corner of her eye, she noticed Sunset turning her head in her direction. Twilight was still with hers resting on the redhead's shoulder, staring at a small mole she had at the beginning of the neck.

"I think... if I had known that things wouldn't be as bad as I thought, then maybe I would have said something sooner. Though I don't know if it serves much to speculate now," she mumbled. And paused, trying to think about how she had gotten here and what was the main point of the conversation. "What I was trying to get at, I think, is that we have to let Sparkle do her own process and be there when she needs us. We already meddled a lot, I don't know if continuing to insist is a good idea."

She heard Sunset sigh heavily over her heart rate. It was calm and sedative at the same time, it inspired a strange feeling of confidence and security.

"To be honest, I'm not entirely convinced. But I trust your word, so okay." Twilight knew she would get an answer like that. Neither of them liked the idea too much, but at the moment it was their best option. "But if there's no change, then we take some kind of measure. Whatever it is, I don't intend to keep my arms crossed."

Twilight made a noise of affirmation; definitively she did not think to leave things like this. For now, they waited, and if nothing happened, then they would take action on the matter as subtly or directly as possible.

A few more minutes passed until she dared to take off, until her breathing finally took an acceptable pace and until, between fleeting kisses and soothing caresses, her emotions managed to settle in a more appropriate, more controllable place. And another pair passed until they both rejoined the shared bed, Twilight with a clean face void of any sign of having been crying for more than ten minutes in a row and Sunset with a different sweatshirt since the previous one ended with a side soaked in tears.

As a result of this, the redhead had to dismiss the wave of apologies from the purple haired girl when she noticed the change of clothing, interrupting her with a brief kiss on the lips since small distractions always worked. Twilight found herself smiling at the action, and returning the gesture with pleasure.

It was thirty-two minutes past twelve o'clock at night when both decided to leave last minute chats that had arisen with the desire to distract themselves to try to sleep. The night had already aged, the little frequency of vehicular traffic denoted it.

Twilight, feeling safe in the arms of one of the people she most appreciated, was certain that today she could rest just a little bit better.

And she wished with all her heart that her counterpart could also sleep in peace.

* * *

_In this way, we can argue that the theories of conception both of the world and the human being are based, according to the philosophers of the V century before--_

The incessant typing of her fingers on the computer keyboard was interrupted by the din of the little creak of the wood, which seemed to rumble in her ears from the beginning of the corridor, from the beginning of the stairs.

The heart rate increased its frequency in warning. It only remained to count.

_...Two, three, four, five, six, seven, eig--_

There wasn't any eighth step.

The world stopped.

The third hinge on the door produced a squeak. Its null maintenance was intentional. A kind of subtle alarm that she had been allowed to keep even though she could recognize the sound variations in the pace of the steps according to who produced them.

"I thought you were in bed already," her father commented, probably raising an eyebrow judging by the circumstantial tone.

Twilight already knew that she was stretching her luck by staying two hours and thirty-five minutes —and counting— past her curfew, at ten o'clock at night. But she didn’t want to sleep, she needed to finish a series of questions within three days. If she didn’t finish it now, then it would stack with the endless pile of assignments to do both this and next week, and she needed to use those margins of time, for more reasons than she liked to admit.

_Inhale, exhale, casual tone._

“I'm a question away from finishing a report; it took more time than I thought. It’s due tomorrow morning.” She tried to keep the tension of the shoulders hidden in the incessant typing, ignoring the acceleration of the heart rate that began to ride faster and faster on the edge of the eardrums. Luckily she was used to it, so doing the latter was as simple as breathing.

“All the more reason then, Twi. Go to bed now and finish it tomorrow morning, ok?”

Twilight swallowed hard, tensing her forearms to control the sudden trembling of her hands.

She was not going to get out of this one, at least, not the way intended.

_Inhale. Exhale. Casual._

“Yes, Dad,” she said with a slight and part fake annoyance. “Goodnight.”

Sometimes she liked to pretend that her life was as normal as everyone else's; that sometimes it did not turn into an insufferable ordeal.

Twilight finished writing the sentence, saved the file, closed it with all the browser windows and set about restoring her desk back to the immaculate order it was intended to, while the laptop was turning off.

At no time did the little creak of the wood recede in its footsteps, after the door to the end of the corridor or the stairs. In no second in which the digital clock located in her desk destined for the immaculate order, changed the last digit, did the third hinge of the door, whose null maintenance was intentional, squeaked again.

_Inhale, exhale, casual._

When she turned her father was still there, impassive.

He placed a hand on her shoulder, without any pressure, with affection. Was it Sparkle's shoulder? No, no, it was Twilight's.

Bile rose quickly through the esophagus up to the throat.

Sometimes she liked to think that her life routine was normal. But Twilight liked to think about too many things.

_Whatever, I'm used to it._

So many, that she did not understand why she put effort into doing so.

* * *

Part of Twilight's everyday life included going to the pharmacy. Or rather, the chain of pharmacies that sold from perfumery to even sweets and protein supplements, and had a shop every ten blocks. Her mother had asked her to buy a few things and, taking advantage that she had left about twelve minutes before the end of the school day, she resolved to go to one of the said pharmacy shops, less than two blocks away.

She decided to go first to the drug section, where luckily only two people were waiting to be assisted before her. It was likely that no one else appeared until after five in the afternoon, but she did not want to leave her father waiting on the school front for too long.

Her mother always seemed to have an excuse when it came to driving her somewhere, but not to ask her to run errands. Not that it bothered Twilight. Normally, she would buy something useful for her too. Although sometimes, the idea of not being criticised for a day as remuneration did not seem so bad. However, that always remained the same way: an idea.

Once attended and with the security bag with the medicines ordered in hand, she went to the perfumery section. According to the second text, she had to buy toilet soap, disposable tissues, and a toothpaste. Would it be enough money for some peppermints? Perhaps for some of those diet chewing gums that were always on clearance, they served equally well when it came to appeasing anxieties. Though she was almost certain that she still had a couple of those left, then as a last resort she could wait unt--

“Ow!”

Definitely, colliding with someone was not on the list.

Since she was looking at the cell phone to corroborate the specific brands, she let go of the latter and everything else in her hand. That included the wallet and the security bag, so she bent down to pick her things up as quickly as possible before someone else did while apologizing to whoever it was that crossed her.

"I'm sorry," Twilight began, already with the peace of mind of having her wallet and cell phone in hand. The other person took her safety bag and, when she looked at their face, she understood why the sleeves of the leather jacket looked familiar. "I didn't notic-- Are you following me?"

Sunset Shimmer frowned, confused, her gaze directed at the medications in the bag.

"I guess this is yours?"

Twilight huffed softly and took it from her hands. She did not need more lectures than usual, less with the counted minutes.

"It's for my mother," she said without further ado, finally turning the corner where she intended.

Once again, she confirmed the brand, took the corresponding product and went on to the subsequent one in the minimum list.

"Your mother sends you to buy contraceptives?" The use of the pretended casualty made her blood boil sometimes, however hypocritical that feeling was. Sparkle was not stupid, she understood where the redhead was trying to get at and she was not going to let her.

"It's none of your business, Sunset."

Check brand, take the product, next.

"…I was just asking." Ok, maybe she had made a mistake with the intention of the tone. It could happen, she was human, too, wasn't she? She could be wrong. But that did not mean that she had to accept an outsider meddling to give her an opinion about her life, or to tell her what they thought was wrong and what was not. By what right? They had not the slightest idea of anything.

"And I'm just telling you to no stick your nose into other people's business." She hoped that the hostile tone was enough to account for it. Twilight did not even turn around to see her, much less with the counted minutes. "I told you before. And if you can't leave that aside, then don't bother speaking to me."

Brand. Product. Nex-- Checkout.

Under what right did they come to speak to her? She detested those little staring games, the visual wordiness, those made-up phrases with which the  _other_  Twilight approached her last week. As if everything was so easy and could be resolved with a snap of fingers. What could she do? Magic? Go back in time? Even now, every idea that came to mind was still more absurd than the previous one.

At the end of the day, she ended up taking those damned mint diet chewing gums, which served to appease the anxieties and cheat the stomach. They were disgusting, with more of a toothpaste flavor than eucalyptus and for that same reason, they were on clearance all the time. She still ended up putting three together to the mouth while walking back to the school's entrance. Anything was welcome to calm the sudden moodiness, calm the nerves that bloomed on the skin, soothe the bile that rose quickly through the esophagus up to the throat. Anything was welcome at the time of appearing calm in front of her father before she was pestered with questions of why the long face.

Luckily he was on the phone when she slowly knocked on the car window to get him to open the door. She had time to settle both physically and mentally before giving explanations as to why she had taken too long.

What could they do? What could  _she_  do, even? To be honest, sometimes she wished she had been abandoned at the door of an orphanage, but neither the family nor the destiny could be chosen. Things had always been this way. Or maybe not always, but a little more than a third of her life. Enough to get used to the dynamics and understand that they would continue to develop that way beyond her will. And if you cannot beat them, join them.

At this point, there was not much else to do.

* * *

Days later, hours later, at who knows how early in the morning, Sparkle lay inert on her bed of thorns.

It was not as if it possessed some kind of distinction to the normal bed because the latter was not uncomfortable, but the normal bed wasn’t either, so they were technically the same. Besides, when had it not hurt her? Figuratively, of course, the bed did not really have thorns. Thank heavens no.

Or maybe yes, and from there the origin to the bruises with which she sometimes got up to turn off the alarm of her digital clock located on her desk destined for immaculate order.

She had already showered. Had already scratched the areas around the bruises under the burning water until relieving herself of the pain caused by those small open and bleeding wounds. Had already threw up everything ingested at dinner until the only thing that remained was a stomach devoid of even gastric juices. Had already taken a bath to pretend to eradicate the impurities rooted in the skin. She had already showered.

Her hair was way too damp and way too thin, it soaked her back, the old shirt she wore at the lack of real pajamas, the pillow of her bed of thorns.

She thought, for a moment, to search for some way to induce terminal pneumonia and die. Just to get out of the hellish routine of life.

No, no, bad plan. Twilight Sparkle (as a whole) never got sick. Sickness was synonymous with staying prostrated on the bed of thorns, with a pressure that caused the latter to puncture the body and pass through the organs and--

And she remembered that it hurt. Though it was a bed made of fictitious, figurative and by logic, unreal thorns. It still hurt.

She turned once, twice. In a rotation of one hundred and eighty degrees (figurative, too). And once her head was buried in the pillow and held even more in the suffocation of polyester fibers (with twenty percent of cotton) thanks to her hands, Sparkle screamed.

And screamed, and screamed, and screamed. Again and again, until her lungs started to burn and she was forced to stop. Stop, to continue unleashing her fury in a torrent of tears that soaked her as if it were the boiling water of the shower, the hair way too damp and way too thin.

It had been long ago since the last time she shed tears, to the point that she believed that her lacrimal glands had become obsolete within her system. It had been a long time since Sparkle had cried because Sparkle wasn't fragile, transparent, or much less stupid.

But now, Sparkle was  _sick_  of the hellish routine of life.

As much as Twilight was. But Twilight was the fragile, the clumsy, the socially secluded, the one who had to accept whatever came to her because that's the way things were. Her father always looked for Twilight, and very occasionally Twilight Sparkle (as a whole) when he got too angry. However, he never looked for Sparkle.

But Sparkle felt Twilight’s pain. Because they were the same person, because they merged in body and soul but not in essence. She felt her pain, felt her anguish, felt her disgust, her disappointment, her low self-esteem, her bile rise from the esophagus up to her throat, her urge to vomit, her--

She shouted again on the pillow, fury to the surface.

Damn Princess of pompous life that lived alone in a castle of pure crystal that had risen from the earth like a schizophrenic fairy tale. Be damned her perfect posture and her way of carrying her dignity as if she were the Queen of England. Be damned her charisma that charmed everyone. Be damned her mental stability and be damned her happiness. Be damned her stupid little staring games. Be damned her speeches of a promising and bright future.

Be damned her deranged fortune where her father had died when she was a child.

Sparkle was tired. Exhausted. Destroyed.

It was who knows what early morning hour. Her corneas needed to rest, they had dehydrated so much that now they felt dry.

Tissues, tissues, she needed tissues to dry her face, to blow her nose. She came out slowly from the sheets that wrapped her bed of thorns in polyester fibers with twenty percent cotton, wet with way-too-damp and way-too-fine hair, to the coolness of her room. There were no tissues inside the drawer of the nightstand, neither in the desk meant for immaculate order nor in the multiple pockets of her backpack. Her pulse quickened with annoyance.

Twilight  _always_  had disposable tissues with her, how could Sparkle not find them?

Still, without giving up, she decided to check all her coats hanging neatly inside her closet, sorted by level of cold protection. It was the season of half-season coats, so she started there with the certainty that Twilight in her stupidity had forgotten them in a pocket.

First one? Empty.

Second? Empty.

Third? A paper.

What paper? A paper of many folds, that when opening it tripled in size until it took the shape of a sheet that was torn from a notebook. In blue ink, vague handwriting and trembling pulse but equal to her own, appeared a series of letters that in its wholeness formed words, constituted addresses, created websites, established telephone numbers.

In the fourth pocket, she found the damn disposable tissues. Sparkle sat on the edge of the bed of thorns, the light of the nightstand on confirming the origin of the writing in her trembling hands.

It was the list of places her clone had made.

_‘I made a list of trustworthy Help Centers and websites with useful information to which you can access if at any time you change your mind.’ She said, sliding the multi-folded paper over the surface of the table. As if it were secret, valuable information. ‘You don't deserve any of this, Twilight.’_

She thought, for a moment, that she could search for some way to induce terminal pneumonia and die.

Just to get out of the hellish routine of life.

Twilight Sparkle (as a whole) was  _sick_  of the hellish routine of life.

* * *

“Which one do you like more?”

Twilight blinked, coming out of the sudden self-absorption. It began to be daily from the time she had left the library furious, or angry, maybe. No, no, those were synonymous, technically. Restless or demoralized perhaps would fit more.

Be that as it may, she took her sight off of some colored tiger plushies. They had eyes so anatomically impossible that they seemed ready to eat her soul (useless and destroyed, but a soul after all) and directed it towards her mother who was holding in each hand a stuffed animal. Both were equal and cat shaped, without exaggerated or creepy details. Made in a patchwork of soft and baby-friendly fabrics and with a cord lined as a tail that, when pulled back, played crib music.

In the left hand, she had one in different hues of pink and in the right one, a replica in lilacs and violets.

"Why do you ask me if you are going to choose the one you like the most?"

Twilight's responses were limited in all aspects of her life because her parents directly opted to ignore her. Her father, when he wanted to ask her opinion, normally took the minimum work of respecting it —again, when he felt like it, but at least he did. Velvet, on the other hand, when she asked for contribution on Twilight's part, it was to perform the opposite action. What flavor of ice cream do you like the most? Then I will take the other one and I still will force you to eat it in front of the guests because I know that you will throw it up later. Sometimes Sparkle thought she was doing it on purpose because it gave her some kind of joy or something.

Therefore, her oh-so-collaborative answer. It was always the same, and maybe Twilight was tired of repeating certain things.

"If you answer me like that, then of course I'm going to do so," refuted her mother offended. Twilight bit the inside of her cheek so as not to roll her eyes in annoyance and decided to play along.

"The pink one. It was the first that caught your attention and is more feminine." If a newborn baby could not see more than thirty centimeters away, much less could distinguish the alleged color assignments by gender. It was a stupid plushie. "But most the important thing should be that it plays music for a prolonged time."

Her mother stared at both animals, looking for which had the fifth leg to take the opposite, surely just not to agree with her.

"If you're not convinced we can go to some other baby store, or come back another day..." Twilight offered. The faster they finished buying, the longer she could lock herself in her room and not have interactions until dinner.

Velvet this time looked at her as if she had said a great stupidity or great nonsense, either of the terms fitted.

"Twilight, the Baby Shower is this Saturday.”

Definitely the first one. She chose not to comment and bite the inside of her cheek with more force than before. She was sure there were two weeks left, were they not two weeks away? How was it that suddenly they were days away? How many exactly, she was not sure either. If they were two, or three, or five, but they were  _days_  away and she had no idea  _how many_  because she was locked in this sudden self-absorption.

"Ah." Was the only thing she could say, if she spoke out loud her doubts she would gain a lecture. "Then we should buy this one and in any case Cadance can change it--"

“Twilight…”

"I mean, it's not like she or Shiny would want to change it because it's ugly, maybe someone gifts them the same thing, a portable stuffed toy that plays crib music is a good idea but also very used, I think, though it's not as simple as it could it be a teething ring or a baby rattle--"

“What day is today, Twilight?”

The store aisles were high enough to cover the hand with which her mother encircled her forearm when she made the motion of trying to walk away to escape. It was a firm grip. It did not hurt her but it did cause pain thanks to the bruises and the scratches in the areas surrounding them under the layers of clothes. It was invasive, sudden, annoying. But if she tried to get free like every time, things would not end well and the truth was that she did not need more fights to add to the daily routine.

"Thursday." If this Saturday was the Baby Shower, then today should be... "Thursday, May twenty-fifth."

It was Thursday, right? Today she had advanced calculus classes, and those were on Wednesday and Thursday morning. The problem was that she was not sure if that pattern had been repeated yesterday. Now that she thought about it, she was not sure if she had done certain tasks, such as starting the first summaries for the upcoming history test.

Her mother released her. Her forearm silently thanking it because if Twilight tried to rub it then it would seem that she was exaggerating on purpose.

“Tomorrow is the twenty-fifth, Twilight, today is Wednesday.” As predicted, Velvet left the pink doll on the nearest ledge and decided on the lilac one, but not before sighing heavily. “How late are you staying awake?”

How do you answer a question that you do not know? Because really, Twilight did not have the slightest idea. Surely it was at dawn, she no longer checked the time on the clock every time she left the shower and entered her room. Showering at the wee hours of the morning was a bad habit, but a habit after all.

"Twilight, I love that you work hard in school, go out with your friends and also decide to follow our steps and do your own research." Oh no. No, no, no. A lecture. "But there’s a world around you."

That was just the beginning of a monologue so long that that lasted even until they left the shop. About why she should stop being so self-absorbed and expect people to follow her rhythm (at this she only chose to look at her mother out of the corner of her eye, just like the cashier at the store did) and why resting hours were important with all the supporting biological arguments.

For a moment, an instant, the rebellious idea of answering her was born. Answer why, how, when and where. She imagined throwing something to the floor as in the movies. She imagined that she was making a catharsis where she shouted so many things that she was left aphonic and some State organism like the police ended up interrupting, and everything ended well as, again, in the movies. But that was nothing more than the product of her imagination, a stupidity, a lie. Reality could not become idealized fiction.

And maybe, sometimes, she liked to think that her life routine was normal. However, Twilight liked to think about many things, many lies.

So many, that she did not even understand what the hell she kept trying if they were going to come down anyway.

* * *

Many days later (or weeks, the temporalities only served to receive lectures), at who knows what time of the wee hours of the morning, Sparkle was sitting on her bed of thorns.

Or maybe it was Twilight, to be honest at this point she was not sure anymore.

As she was not sure if the thorns on her bed were ever as figurative as she pretended to think. Maybe they actually were hands, hands with sharp ends that punctured her body and pierced her organs and--

And she remembered that it hurt. Because the thorns really were not as fictitious or figurative or, by logic, unreal as she wanted to believe. It really hurt.

Her back was bent but not enough to form a hump, with only a slight curvature of the spine. A... discouraged posture? It sure had a complex technical name that Twilight had surely read in a book, but Sparkle could not remember right now.

Twilight was the researcher who lived through scientific paradigms and theories, following the footsteps of her parents. Sparkle liked the arts, philosophy, social sciences. All those things that were opposed to the exact Sciences par excellence and that for her parents, especially her father, were considered banal and stupid. Why make existential proposals when you can always be one step away from a Nobel Prize for research? Well, maybe Sparkle had the right to want to be stupid and banal from time to time, just to annoy. She had the right to be annoying, too.

He was there to her left, at who knows what time of the wee hours of the morning. She was not going to raise her head to check the digital clock because then she would see him. And all that Twilight Sparkle (as a whole) wanted, was to see him  _burn_.

Her imagination was enough to calm down a bit. Even if her hearing betrayed her with the catastrophic reality of the sound of the rubbing of garments (made of mostly cotton fibers and probably mixed with an unknown percentage of polyester, nylon, or elastin) when being rearranged.

With her arms glued to her sides to affirm that the sheets hid her bare chest from the cold, Sparkle played to tear the split ends of her hair way-too-horrible and way-too-thin, which would soon become way-too-wet. And that in a matter of minutes it was also going to soak her back, the old t-shirt that she would find in the drawer of the closet, the pillow of her bed of fictional thorns.

Meanwhile, it fell down her back and shoulders in a mediocre attempt to protect her from the cold air of the room, from the unbearable tingling of the spine.

"Are you going to take a shower?"

Why the hell did he always ask her that?!

 _Inhale. Exhale. Casual_. Twilight nodded, still playing to crush the strands of her hair.

She felt a kiss on the top of her head, followed by an affective caress along the shoulders that lasted five seconds of Hell on Earth.

"All right. It will help you sleep better, honey."

Twilight Sparkle would dare to give an opinion on that matter the day one of them ended up with a knife buried in their chest.

_Inhale._

_Exhale_

_Casual_.

"Good night, dad."

The squeak of the third hinge on the door, whose null maintenance was intentional, seemed to make a roar in the palpable silence of the room.

 _One, two, three, four, five, six... Seven_.

Undoubtedly, the little creak of wood on the floor returned to the end of the corridor.

Twilight Sparkle dropped to the thorns, looked at the white ceiling for a few seconds, gave a kind of semicircular turn of one hundred and eighty degrees and then buried her head in the pillow and without further ado shouted.

And she screamed and screamed. Over and over again until her lungs started to burn and she was forced to stop. Stop, to continue unleashing her fury in a torrent of tears that soaked her as if it were the boiling water of the shower, as if it were the hair way too wet and way too thin.

After the screams of catharsis that gave balance to the soul because philosophy did have utility. After wiping the tears and blowing her nose with disposable tissues, Sparkle got close to the edge of the bed. She probed with one arm under it, towards one of the internal sides of the legs. Attached with packing tape there was a paper of many folds, whose real size revealed to be a sheet of a torn notebook. In blue ink and calligraphy similar to her own only clumsier and trembling, appeared a set of addresses, websites, telephone numbers.

Once again, as she was sure it had happened many days ago, many nights ago; she sat on the edge of the bed to observe with greater clarity under the light of the night table the writing between her trembling hands.

It was the list that her clone had put together.

It was her way out of the hellish routine of life.

* * *

Today was Saturday, June tenth. At some hour in the afternoon, maybe four or five, judging from the sunlight and the singing of the birds on the neighbor's tree.

She knew it from the calendar hanging on top of her bed, against the wall to her right, the past days marked with a cross. The first had been on Thursday, May twenty-fifth. They went with Velvet to the mall in search of clothes for the Baby shower and then, since it was in the same place, to buy a couple of groceries in the supermarket. Twilight stayed in the book section while her mother looked a few things in the linens section when she suddenly surprised her with the blessed calendar. After the lecture the day before, she thought she was going to ask her every morning at breakfast what day it was or something like that.

She even sat down with her to write down important dates or exams. Twilight, in general, had them written on a small separate agenda, which she lately revised with the same frequency with which she went running —never. Therefore it was not a bad idea to get up and have a reminder in front of your nose every day. Sometimes her mother worried about playing her role.

Now that she thought about it, she was not sure if she had finished the summaries for the History exam, but according to the calendar, it was July eighteen so she had thirty-eight days to study.

Or rather, thirty-seven. Today she was not thinking of doing much more than reading a novel or watching documentaries. Or continue looking at the list as she had done the last ten or twenty minutes.

She did not have the slightest idea why she was doing it; reading the contents of the paper of many folds, over and over again, and again, and again. To the point that Twilight was almost certain she could recite it whole from memory.

Her parents had gone to buy several things at the supermarket since she could not accompany her mother. Feeling a bit feverish, if she went outside now, she would likely end up with the flu that would take days to cure. She had to start drying her hair at the wee hours of the morning or at least try to make it as dry as possible. Ending with terminal pneumonia sounded good only in theory.

Therefore, she was alone in her house. No need to worry about noises that could trigger sudden alarms in her system, with a headache that was beginning to subside thanks to the medication that had been given to her an hour and a half ago, and an empty cup of tea on the nightstand. On a Saturday afternoon, with pleasant weather, the singing of birds seeping through the window curtains and a pair of real pajamas made with one hundred percent soft and comfortable cotton like the sheets on the bed.

Sometimes the excuse of being sick was not so bad. Only sometimes when there were no thorns to hurt her in the way, when she was alone in her house with a slight fever.

Though technically it was a lie, considering thirty-six degrees did not qualify in the "sick" category. But would perhaps memorizing a list with a set of addresses, websites, telephone numbers count?

At first it seemed absurd. Things were done a certain way and had to be respected, and it she was already used to the dynamics. And when she reached the legal age, she would do everything possible to move to another place. And many other reasons that at the time did not finish forming in concrete ideas but roamed the unconscious. However, at first, she did not know that these places existed; she did not know there were options, that maybe she did not have to endure it until eighteen.

She did not know she could  _do_  something.

Even though the idea crossed her mind a thousand times, she had to admit that the consequences scared her. In those ‘what if...?’ In those illusive speculations everything always ended badly for her, not the other way around.

The list gave her  _too much_  curiosity. If everything always went wrong, then why would all of this  _exist_? Why did her doppelganger appear with it?

The  _other_  Twilight had a fairy tale life (she was going to believe those things the day she could see them, really). Had perfect posture. Had a charisma that everyone loved. Had mental stability and happiness.   
Why bother, then? The streets had real names and phone numbers and the websites seemed too elaborate to be fake. It could not be a joke.

Maybe, perhaps, at best, she could  _do_  something.

Routines were practical, synthetic, structured, simple to follow. As well as they were exhausting. And maybe Twilight was tired, destroyed,  _sick_  of always having to repeat the same actions.

Maybe Twilight had the right to want something different.

She had the right to be annoying, too.

* * *

A significant number of days later (or weeks, the temporalities were not only confusing but insignificant at this point), early in the morning, Twilight was sitting at the kitchen table.

One hundred and fifty cubic centimeters of coffee, without any additions of more than fifteen grams of sugar, were contained in a ceramic cup to her left. It was white and simple, devoid of generic drawings or children's caricatures, too boring even to apply a disqualifying adjective.

To her right was the latest issue of a science and technology magazine that had arrived this morning, along with another pair that was specific to her parents' field of work. It always had curious facts or news that were interesting to read to pass the time or encourage research.

Behind Twilight was her mother, concentrating on cooking things with strong smells in the pan to the letter of the recipe or otherwise ‘it would spoil them’. It was not as if Twilight was bothered by the silence, it was easier to pretend to be nonexistent if nobody tried to have a conversation with you.

The small, sudden sound of cracking wood seemed to rumble in her ears. The world stopped, just for a second.

However, the percentage of probability that the intentions were transformed into effective results was very low. Most of the things that happened in her life proved it.

Three paragraphs and fifty characters inside the first article of the magazine, she felt a kiss on the top of the head that unleashed the gallop of the heart rate on the eardrums. She still remained undaunted, pretending to be absolutely concentrated on the rest of the sentence but without really understanding its meaning. Her system had transferred the focus around the conversation that was taking place around her, looking for a sign of some anomaly.

"I didn't think you were really going to get up and cook, Vel. Much less scrambled eggs.”

"Before any complaint, don't forget that your friend the toaster is not going to have a problem listening to you, dear.”

The constant gallop in the ears came down at a slight trot when she noticed that her parents were in their typical good mood where light jokes prevailed. Fortunately Twilight was the only one with a deplorable state of mind, like most of the time.

Usually, the arrival of the new fascicle lifted the spirit, now it only served as a means to isolate herself from social interactions with whom she most detested. She could not wait to get to school and exercise her (conditional) freedom as much as possible.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Night Light sit to her left, at the head of the table, a cup of coffee in one hand and a medium plate with toast in the other. Her mother took the place in front of her, finishing placing sliced fruits and orange juice on the table in an attempt to imitate the so-called American breakfast.

Velvet said it was a good way to vary, to Twilight it seemed like too much food for two people.

"Aren't you going to eat anything, Twilight?" inquired her father more casually than accusatory. It was not the first time that coffee was her only meal. It would not be the last either.

"I don't feel well," she answered, in a way that even to her it seemed too mechanical to be credible.

The back of one hand, invasive, sudden, rested on her forehead for three seconds of insufferable fire. Twilight refrained from making any gestures of discomfort or combing her —now ruined— bangs with her fingers while working to lower the bile at the base of her throat with a sip of coffee. Too bitter.

"You don't have a fever," Night Light commented both skeptically and decisively. She did not understand why giving the benefit of the doubt if he still would leave her in evidence, she was not going to stop hating him for that. "And you already used that excuse last night."

Velvet, with her expressions as subtle as her daughter's animosity could be, sighed in exasperation.

"Twilight, we've had this conversation a thousand times,” she spoke in a tired voice, like someone who does not feel like repeating for the umpteenth time the damn speech about why skipping meals was useless and stupid.

Twilight did not want to hear it either, so before her mother could utter another word, after an annoying and intentional sigh she took a slice of toast and gave it a violent bite. And ignoring the exchange of glances from her parents, she set out to resume reading about the detection of lymphatic vessels in the brain.

If resigning to eat meant that they ignored her for five more minutes, without sudden touchings or useless lectures, then Sparkle would eat the entire table if necessary.

 

By the time she managed to get to the third article in the magazine, she was already on her way to school, in her father's car. Velvet had the perfect excuse for a meeting on the other side of town. Twilight would have preferred more than a thousand times to take the bus forty-five minutes earlier to arrive almost on the minute the bell rang, but her parents insisted it was an unnecessary expense when possessing two vehicles.

Probably it was, as well as her (conditional) freedom and that's why she was not allowed to take public transport to one of the best public schools in the area.

Luckily it was not yet seven thirty, so the traffic traveled with the necessary fluidity to reach its destination in approximately twenty-two to twenty-five minutes or even smaller numbers.

All this was made less tedious thanks to the commentators on the radio and their discussions on political, social, or economic topics of the moment. The galloping heartbeat was still there, in its apparent and uncomfortable naturalness, as she tried to process the words written in front of her. Concentrating became increasingly difficult when her entire system was on automatic alert.

"You've been very quiet lately." An ambulance rushed by in the opposite lane, a roar of lights and sharp, repetitive noises in its path. Or maybe it was her unconsciousness. To be honest, she was not sure anymore. "I'm not saying that you talk too much..."

...But?

Was it strange? Something bad?  _What? Since when?_

Night Light left the phrase in the air as if that would make Twilight stop pretending to be too concentrated on the same five lines since three minutes ago and deign to give an answer. Even though it was probably a futile and childish fight.

She turned to the next page only to pretend.

The vehicle took a turn to the right, reducing the speed to be in neutral at the traffic light which coincidentally had three different times and seventy seconds.

A sudden, invasive hand landed on her left leg at the start of it, almost over the beginning of the quadriceps; as an unbearable fire that went up through bones and nerve receptors to the spine, to dissipate to the rest of the body in an uncomfortable tingling.

Bile went up through the esophagus to the throat, or maybe it was more than that.

"You know you can talk to me, right?"

Twilight put aside the magazine for a moment, to turn her head in his direction and blink as if he had said something very strange but very obvious at the same time. She quickly nodded.

She knew that his intentions were real, she knew that he was really willing to listen to everything she could have to say, that he was not going to ignore her. That he would act like a father that came out of a film, unnecessary examples to express clear ideas and cliché phrases included.

However, she was also aware that everything involved a price, one that until today was still paid thanks to the number of times she thought 'what does it matter?’ In which she decided to give the benefit of the doubt and trust.

This would not be one of them.

Twilight looked back at the traffic light, there were still forty-three seconds left.

Forty-two, forty-one, forty, thirty-nine...

"What's wrong, Twi?" Night Light inquired in a tone that reflected genuine concern. "Is someone bothering you at school? Did you fight with one of your friends?"

However, when her father wanted a response from her, he always found a way to get it either by discarding, insisting, or playing the fortune-teller.

Sparkle shook her head again in confusion, somehow surprised at such suggestions. She was about to say some kind of excuse —with a certain percentage of truth— in an attempt to end the conversation, but it was not her who was leading it.

"Does it have something to do with something we did, like at breakfast?"

Twilight sealed her lips, looking anywhere but at the origin of the analytical sight on her person; who was also responsible for the uncomfortable tingling in the spine, the seconds of hell on Earth of the moment.

It was a reaction both intended and real because maybe it was one of the (three hundred or two hundred, a long time ago she had stopped counting) reasons why her mood in this last time was more deplorable than usual. She was sick of the talks about why eating was important to human biology. It was always the same lecture with different words about how she was ruining what was already destroyed, and why she should feel guilty about it. At the beginning that had been effective, now she could not care less.

Twenty-one, twenty, nineteen, eighteen...

"I know that your mother can be a bit crude to say things," he started. Twilight kept her eyes wandering between the traffic light and the dashboard of the car. "But her intention is to take care of you; she's worried about seeing you like that. We're  _both_  worried about seeing you like that because  _we love you_ , Twi."

Seeing her like that how?

A little paler? More ‘scrawny’ as Velvet said, when in fact she only lost a couple of kilos that barely could be seen in the clavicles? Or with hair way too awful and way too thin? Or with scratches in the areas surrounding the bruises? Or with impurities rooted in the skin? Throwing up until she had a stomach devoid of even gastric juices?

_Like that? Or how the hell they saw her?_

It was the most magnanimous and stupidest lie she had ever heard towards her person. Also the most ridiculously reiterated. It caused a kind of nausea that was not easy to put up with.

Six, five, four, three...

Her legs were again her property, as well as the feeling of relief that with each time became increasingly strange. The car returned to the march of the control of changes in first. If she was fortunate —an unusual thing— in less than ten minutes they would arrive at school and the uncomfortable conversations would end for a couple of hours.

Meanwhile, Sparkle offered no response. What did he expect her to tell him? That she loved them too? That now all her problems had disappeared like magic, before illusory words? She had already lost her temper even to try to pretend that she felt some kind of guilt for what she had said. Or to lower her head in embarrassment. Or to do more than look out the window at the sunny day and the enviable unconcern of others.

Surprisingly, Night Light seemed to understand the message and did not utter a word other than to greet her when they reached their destination as did Twilight. Or maybe he just continued in his role of the person of good mood just to antagonize her. Surely she would find out at night.

 

About twenty minutes left for the bell to ring, the school was with the doors already open but almost devoid of students. Many chose to wait outside, sitting on the grass of one of the green areas of the school, as if every extra second they spent inside the building would take an hour of their lives.

Twilight somehow felt protected within such an imposing and ancient building, especially in the library. However, her first stop was the bathrooms on the second floor, empty as most of the level, where no one would notice her presence in any of the cubicles to question why she was throwing up the entire breakfast.

With the bile again in its place, with nausea difficult to endure eradicated and that strange feeling of relief of an empty stomach, she went to the sink to soak her face with cold water in order to collect herself a bit of all the tension of the last hour.

She proceeded to look for the toiletry bag with items of personal hygiene inside her backpack, standing out among the books and notebooks for its bright violet color with a golden zip--

She stopped in her tracks. When had she put the city guide in her backpack? A small mental recount of what she had done this morning reminded her that she had decided to bring it with her at the last moment. And if she opened it backward, on the inside of the back cover should be... Aha.

The paper of fourteen folds ("many" was already becoming redundant) was stuck there. With what little remained of the adhesive of the packing tape. Suddenly the reason for carrying both things together in her backpack made such perfect sense that she resisted hitting her head against the porcelain of the sink for forgetting.

With renewed energy, she reached for the toiletry bag, and after brushing her teeth, using a mouthwash, and two peppermints just in case, she headed for the stairs to the third floor. Her first class of the day was advanced calculus: methodical, easy to understand if adequate attention was paid, and no need to wander within a range of answers.

Of course, since there were still fifteen minutes to go before the bell rang, the classroom was totally empty. Added to the fact that the teacher always arrived around three to five minutes  _late_ , that gave her a total of eighteen to twenty extra minutes of leisure.

After settling into the third desk located in the first row next to the wall, she quickly accommodated the things she would need for the class. Usually, she would use the time to finish reading some of the articles in the magazine, both to distract herself and not have to start any kind of uncomfortable conversation. Now, with a guide in hand, priorities were different.

Opening the fourteenfold paper (fourteen divided into two was seven, and seven was a lucky number in many cultures) she found a set of addresses, websites, telephone numbers in a calligraphy similar to her own but more clumsy and amateurish.

The first address that caught her attention was one whose street was the same one where the bus used to turn the few time she used took it to her old school, only that she had not the slightest idea at what exact number. But it was a good starting point. Her doppelganger had said that they were trustworthy places, right?

With that idea in mind, she set out to look in the city guide. In addition to being more comfortable thanks to the numbering system, the alphabetical orders and the grids, Twilight's phone was not the most technological of the time. Her friends always laughed saying it looked more like a brick than a phone because it did not even have color on the screen. However, it was small for any pocket, comfortable; the battery lasted a whole week, was one hundred percent anti-theft, and fulfilled its function of sending messages and receiving calls almost perfectly. Not to mention that until a few months ago she did not use it more than to speak with a very limited number of people.

The classroom door creaked and closed in what seemed like a rumble thanks to the echo generated by the silence on the whole floor, it was likely that more people were gathering outside at the entrance. Twilight decided not to pay attention, it was surely another student who arrived early.

And she was forced to do the opposite when, out of the corner of the eye, she noticed Sunset Shimmer take the other seat available on the table.

"Hey," she greeted.

"Good Morning," Twilight answered mechanically while continuing to search for the street address in the alphabetical list of the corresponding county.

_Don Trovador... Are the articles taken into account for the alphabetical orders? I never understood that._

A heavy sigh. Tired? Exasperated?

"Sparks, I understand that it bothered you the fact that we had meddled in-- is that the list Twilight gave you? The other one, I mean."

Twilight stopped short, blinking a couple of times.

"...Maybe?" Somehow that sounded more inquisitive than intentional.

Silence. The air seemed a little stiller and heavy.

"...Do you need a hand in knowing how to get to any of the places?" she spoke softly and slowly as if it were an uncomfortable topic. Or it was that in fact most of the students in the class liked to arrive five minutes earlier.

"That's what I'm figuring out." In an attempt of emphasis, Twilight continued looking for the street on the list to find the map number with it.

More silence a couple of other students began to enter the classroom. It was not exactly the kind of subject that was going to recruit thirty-five teenagers, though the university carriers created enough interest to reach a solid fifteen.

"You want me to accompany you? It’s no problem." Again, the tone was low enough that no one but Twilight would hear her.

The aforementioned turned her head to observe the redhead completely when she heard that. Sunset held her gaze, showing that she was being honest and that a simple ‘yes’ was enough to make her leave her school activities to accompany her on private life matters. It was strange, that someone would care to help her without having out any personal benefit.

Although if she thought about it, Sunset always did that without any further motive, just like the rest of her friends. They did not have any obligation to invite her anywhere, and yet they were looking for ways to make her participate in their little get-togethers at which she was allowed to go.

Still, she had the imperious and strange need to do it on her own. Without the help or dependence of anyone else.

"Thanks, Sunset, really. But I think I prefer to go alone." Twilight tried a smile, one that she was sure seemed more like a crooked grin, or at least one that was very uncomfortable. It had been a long time since she smiled, it felt weird.

"Ok. But if you change your mind just tell me, okay?" Sunset nodded without any kind of resentment, which reassured Twilight a little, who knows why.

A couple more minutes passed, and almost fifty percent of the students were already in their respective places. Both of them resumed their activities, Twilight analyzing the bus route to locate exactly at what stop she should get off.

At a quarter to eight o'clock, the bell rang.

When she was already writing down the address in a small pocket notebook, Twilight felt something touch her shoulder.

She looked to her left, Sunset held a small piece of paper between her fingers, folded in half and with irregular edges since it came from her notebook. Twilight looked at it for a moment and then turned her gaze towards the redhead, curious.

"If for some reason you need to stay for a while somewhere, or you just want to talk at five thirty in the morning, there's my address," she explained with her usual lopsided grin. "And I'm sure the girls would offer you the same."

Twilight took it in her hands as if it were secret, valuable information. Indeed, in blue ink and large calligraphy, Sunset’s characteristic neat and rounded, was the address of a department. She watched it closely for a few seconds, with a bit of difficulty as her eyes were blurring. A strange sensation built up in her chest.

This time Twilight felt that the muscles of her jaw naturally moved to form a smile, one she was sure she had not been able to do for a long time, even when she wanted to.

"Thank you.”

It was a natural and genuine smile.

* * *

_Inhale, exhale, casual._

_No, no, not casual. Firm. Serious._

Night Light had gone to a meeting with friends and would not be back until night time. So only her mother and she were alone, for the rest of the afternoon.

This was her chance. The only one at the moment.

In another instance of her life, she probably would have used the time to rest a couple of hours and recover lost sleep. However, lately, she was sleeping worse than usual, if she got around closing her eyes for more than sixty seconds in a row. Besides that there were other priorities in her head.

She had managed to visit a couple of the places that were on the list and investigate a little on her own. One of the tips she was given when asked what she could do, in addition to a complaint with a juvenile lawyer —which she was not sure she wanted to do, to be honest, was to tell someone she could trust. To start from there to decide what would be the steps to follow.

Even so, they gave her forms to fill out and pamphlets with protocols and/or useful information in an attempt to convince her, which she ended up keeping and after a selection filter based on the content and discarding the rest. If she got caught, she would get into serious trouble, and the hiding places in her room could not hold as many things as it seemed.

Besides, Twilight did not want to make those scandals that made it on television where journalists piled up outside the courts, she simply wanted to get away. It could be a few thousand kilometers or her brother's house, but far away after all.

This was her chance. And she was not sure at all. However, she did not have the time to prepare mentally, and if she thought about it, Twilight never had the option to do it in many situations. Even when she could, it ended up proving to be in vain. She lost nothing in trying because there was nothing to lose. In the broadest sense of the phrase.

She took a breath, let it go slowly one more time and finally knocked on the open door of the study. Before it was at the back of the living room, but since her brother left they decided to use the space and move it upstairs. The initial plan was actually to move to a more comfortable house, for the third time in four years, until their parents realized how unnecessary it was at last minute and chose to stay.

Sometimes they had good ideas.

When Velvet answered from the desk, a minute or two had already passed. She had to inherit that total concentration from someone, right?

"What happened, honey?" She did not even turn around to see her, and Twilight could not thank her enough for that. Her mother would probably scold her for biting her nails, claiming that it was not behavior for a girl her age. However there was a fairly long list of things that a girl her age should not do and here she was, leaning against the door frame as if she were going to recharge her with energy to talk.

_Inhale. Exhale. Come on, firm. What's the worst that could happen?_

Twilight inhaled and exhaled for the umpteenth time. There was nothing to lose, in the broadest sense of the phrase.

"...Mom, can I talk to you for a moment?" Her mother had told not to bother her unless it was something urgent since she was preparing to give a conference within the next few days. This went into the emergency classification, right? If there was a hierarchical order it would probably fit into the lowest category, but still qualified. "It's important."

"Do I need to call an ambulance?"

Should she? No, according to the pamphlets it was best to go to the hospital.

"…I don't think so."

"Did you hurt yourself with something, then?"

Twilight blinked, confused.

"No.”

"Do you need a bone marrow transplant?"

What the hell?

"No, but--"

"Then it can wait, Twilight."

She frowned, as if with that she could keep her eyes from clouding against her will.

"B-but--"

"I'm busy, honey. Later."

Twilight had to dig her nails into her palms until her arms shook, had to bite her lip so hard not to say anything stupid. Surely it would leave a mark for the rest of the week, but at this point it would be one of many, not to mention that she had other priorities at the moment. Did her life have to be at risk to get her mother to pay attention to her? Just because Twilight thought it was important did not count as such?

Her father for his part kept repeating that same speech in a thousand different ways, from the ‘conversation’ that other time in the car. Because he knew that Twilight knew she would end up giving in on telling him what was bothering her. That was what  _usually_  happened, past tense. Now she opted for not to answer at all. Nor is it that, in case she wanted to, Twilight could do it. It was like telling the fire to go out and stop burning everything. Stupid, foolish, illogical, incongruous.

As a result, the payments to her debts ended up being a little more annoying, yes, but barely a little. The insufferable ordeal of life remained as usual, the routine remained the same and all those etceteras that made the consequences not matter in the least.

She never understood why her parents always told her that they loved her, that they cared what the hell was going through her head, that they did not want her to isolate herself in her room all day if then they were going to do things like this. She did not understand why so much interest in reciting magnanimous lies. Keeping appearances? It was nothing new that they wanted Twilight to introduce herself to the world in a certain way. Was not it better to tell her, instead of trying the thousand ways to give a lecture?

Twilight wrapped herself with the sheets of her bed. After locking herself in her room with a slam of the door, screaming in the suffocation of the pillow until her lungs burned, and unleashing a torrent of annoyed, frustrated tears. The little positivism was now buried underground, as her spirits and desired to interact with the world. Was it wrong to ask for things to come out as she had expected? Was it wrong to consider something important, even though it might not be?

Was it wrong to want to trust her mother for once?

Maybe if she talked to her brother...

No. She dismissed the idea when she got to his name on the contact list, thumb on the green call button. Shining was working twice to be able to take a few extra days when the baby was born. Cadance was about eight months pregnant and had a date for some number in July. She could not disturb him during working hours for  _trivialities_.

With no other option available, suddenly, as if by magic, Social Services did not seem as scary as before. If she was sent to an orphanage, Twilight could lie saying her parents left her there, period. They did not have to exist. Surely all her projects and investigations would go to hell, as her friends because she would have to adapt to another school again and who knows if she could meet her future niece. Maybe they would send her somewhere too far and--

And maybe the consequences still gave her a bit of panic. However, it was a matter of investigating her possible options, right? There were several sites and places on the list. If she organized herself well enough to put together a precise plan, she could get to visit them all and elaborate as many hypotheses as necessary to get the best conclusions.

She had to thank her doppelganger someday for looking for so many options knowing that she would not settle for just one. Maybe they did have something in common after all.

With new ideas, disappointments, and mixed feelings in mind, Twilight tried to close her eyes for more than sixty seconds in a row. She could at least make use of the only time her mind was at peace from sudden alerts and try to recover a minimum percentage of lost sleep.

Twilight had too many doubts and ideas in her head, but the only thing she could say that she possessed some kind of certainty of, was that the distance she always had with her family and —in spite of her efforts— her parents, now seemed to become more of a physical demand. She just felt the need to get away, a few thousand kilometers or just around the corner, but to be far away.

Suddenly, Social Services did not seem as scary as before.

* * *

Sparkle had been so lost in temporalities that it did not matter what date it was. The day did. Her plans had to be carried out on one of the school days. It was almost six in the morning on a Thursday. Or so the clock said on the board of the taxi driver's car and so confirmed the tango radio announcer.

She checked the address once, twice, three times. The numbers and letters captured in all the splendor on the glass portal of the building matched with those written on the paper in large, neat and rounded calligraphy. The street also matched with the post at the corner of the street. Not to mention that the taxi driver should have a minimum sense of location, it was the basis of his work after all. Even so, she still made sure and checked being in the right place two more times with the pocket guide.

She had already arrived here, she could not retrace her steps. Sparkle advanced three steps of polished stone (it could not be marble, that would be too expensive and too old) she checked the last number with the last letter for one last time and put her finger on the doorbell for five counted seconds.

There was only waiting, and waiting, and waiting, and waiting.

Sunset had told her she could come at five thirty in the morning, so if it was almost six there would be no problem, wouldn't it? Would she be angry about not telling her beforehand that she was coming? No, no, no. Sparkle had to try, she could not retrace her steps. She did not had enough money to pay for another taxi and even if she did, she was sure that her debt would multiply by two million.

No, correction: it  _multiplied_  the minute she stepped out of the house.

It only remained to wait and perhaps pray to some deity with impromptu prayers (since communion and catechism classes had been left behind like exact timing and dates) for Sunset to attend the gate.

So she waited, and waited, and waited.

Until a sleepy voice spoke by the speaker of the doorbell, heavy, confused. "Who is it?"

"Sunset? I'm Twilight, uh, Sparkle." It did sound like Sunset. When she began to mutter nonsensical things the moment someone tried to wake her up from some class too boring.

After a yawn and a ‘coming’, Sparkle stayed again waiting under the gate of a huge building, less than half a block from the main avenue.

One or two people who left the building at that time gave her looks as rare as the taxi driver’s, and once again, Sparkle verified her appearance. She was in real pajamas, covered by a winter jacket because the mid-season ones no longer served against the eight grades at morning, with common sneakers in order to disguise it a little better. And for more comfort or something like that. It had been a while since she remembered what that word meant.

About fifty seconds later Sunset jerked open the front door and it took her two more before she threw herself towards Sparkle.

Any thread of thought was undone when she felt arms that held her with despair. As if she would break, as if she had not seen her in a long time.

It did not feel like the insufferable fire, it did not rise through bones, nor through nervous receptors up to the spine, nor dissipated to the rest of the body in an uncomfortable tingling. Sparkle frowned, puzzled. All heat belonging to another living being always translated into her skin as fire. Perhaps it was because she was in  _that_  other state. So untidy, so inanimate. Where she had not revived herself with small, burning and bleeding wounds. Where all touch on the skin was nullified by insensibility.

When Sunset released her, she felt a kind of cold that she did not remember being there, and it was even more unusual. She supposed that doing different things, getting out of a routine, guaranteed to have uneven body sensations.

"Why the tenth?" Sparkle asked when she saw Sunset press the elevator button. She needed to change the subject, whether mental or real. She did not want Sunset to ask her questions that she was not sure how to answer.

The redhead just shrugged, leaning against the mirrored wall.

"It was the last one available. And I love the view, I guess.”

Did you really need so little criteria to rent an apartment? She wanted to get one. One on the other side of the country. Or at least on the other side of the city, that was enough.

Two seconds of almost uncomfortable silence passed until Sunset rubbed her eyes, remembering something.

"Oh! Uh, Twilight's at home." She pointed with her thumb toward the elevator doors. "She's helping me study for the History test on Tuesday."

Ah, the  _other_  Twilight Sparkle. The one that came so far that it did not appear on the maps, the one that lived alone in a castle of made of pure crys...

Wait. Priorities. The Pompous Princess did not matter now.

"Is there a History test on Tuesday? Weren't we a month away?"

Had a month gone by? In which one where they currently in? She remembered to write the dates according to the blackboard in each upper right corner of the page, where it belonged. Not the numbers, the numbers were numbers, they passed again and again combined in the same way.

The elevator doors opened, Sunset stared at her as if she had discovered a malformation on her face but did not want to tell her. Sparkle went out anyways to wait outside. The corridor looked gloomy without the morning light that had not yet made its presence, but she had gone through worse.

"...I think it's been a little over a month, Sparks." Sunset went ahead and led her to the first door to the right of the left side of the corridor.

Sparkle kept the urge to ask what date it was. Maybe a year had passed and she had not noticed. No, no, in the middle was the summer and the holidays, and it was still cold. They were still in the southern hemisphere, right? Since when did she forget so many stupidly basic things?

Again, the train of thought was interrupted by her friend telling her to feel at home —which she decided to take figuratively— and inviting her to sit wherever she wanted. She was also assaulted by the smell of freshly brewed coffee, and the other Twilight Sparkle peeked through the doorframe of the kitchen to greet and offer her such a drink.

Sparkle accepted, knowing that she would need as much caffeine as the human organism could resist if she wanted to stay alive for the rest of the day. Though, dying did not seem like a bad idea.

No, she dismissed it instantly. Priorities.

Five minutes later, both she and Twilight were sitting on the sofa, Sunset on a small bench by the coffee table in front of them. The redhead was stirring her cup with the enthusiasm of a punished child, for having to use powdered milk in the absence of one made of almonds. Twilight looked at her with a small smile, which was well hidden if not for the small shine that Sparkle caught dancing in her eyes.

There were still no signs of the dawn.

"I'm sorry for waking you up,” she murmured, guilt gnawing at a corner of her head from even before she arrived.

In an absurd synchronization, Sunset rolled her eyes in her typical way of saying ‘sometimes you're too much’ and Twilight shook her head, waving her hand as in a sign that it did not matter.

"Actually, you woke us up from a rather uncomfortable four-hour nap." She rubbed her neck in emphasis. "So don't worry."

Sunset seemed revitalized by such answer.

"Hey! Don’t speak ill of Filomena." The redhead scolded her, waving her spoon in the direction of the victimizer. Who blinked until the caffeine woke her up enough to understand what she was talking about.

"...You named your sofa?" Twilight inquired, her expression blank. Sparkle was sure that both of them must have been doing the same gesture, in those parallel coincidences, because Sunset looked at both of them before shrugging her shoulders as if it were obvious.

"Of course! What kind of person would I be if I didn't name my material objects?"

Two seconds of silence passed.

"A normal one?" Sparkle suggested softly, with the shyness of a girl who suggests some little evil.

Twilight almost choked on the coffee with a laugh, Sparkle hid her own by biting her nails, and Sunset complained about her right to free speech that had nothing to do with anything. Which led to another round of comments without direction, to casual conversations that are held with friends.

It was fun, and Sparkle found herself participating as if nothing had happened, forgetting for a while why it was that she was there. Why she had decided to leave her house in the middle of the night. Why she had been working out a plan for hours. Why debts had been multiplied. Why she felt indecent and impure. Why it would be a good idea to induce terminal pneumonia and die.

Why she was sick of the hellish routine of life.

Maybe the corners of her mouth were a little bit more upwards than normal, maybe she was smiling naturally as it did not happen long ago. It was fun, forgetting for a second the crappy things of life to chat without measured behaviors and get distracted for a while. In the last time it had been difficult due to the fact that if she was not skipping classes, she would sit in automatic mode at lunch with her friends. Or simply her essence was not in tune with the real world, with the body, and she had not the slightest idea what she was doing exactly. Like with the temporalities.

Between the cultural conversations, the ping pong of light jokes, the critics to the red head's null home decoration, and endless comings and goings in multiple directions, the day began to sneak through the curtains of the sliding doors of the balcony.

"By the way, Sparks. Why did you decide to come at six in the morning?" Sunset asked, once the casual talking seemed to be over and the coffee that was left in the cups was cold. "It's not that it bothers me, on the contrary, but... uh, something happened?"

Twilight cast a furtive glance at Sunset, who responded with one of the same caliber.

Sparkle used to drink anything in sips as it gave her more satiety than a single drink. But when she went to take one she found that there was nothing left but the bottom.

There was no more coffee, much less time to keep forgetting things.

Pff! Her doppelganger knew perfectly, and therefore Sunset had a pretty clear idea. There was not much to hide, much less when she showed up at six in the morning and they still offered her a cup of coffee.

"After we spoke, I’ve been thinking and... I, uh, I decided to investigate," she started, slowly. She did not feel too secure and it was likely that if she took off the sight of the mug in her hands, she would back out. "I went to several of the centers on the list, read pages, spoke with different people. I even got invited to group talks..."

She had been coordinating the days with the different school subjects so that they did not influence her attendance. Nor did she lower her grades too much to avoid having any kind of attention call. Somehow it was fun. Getting out of the line, missing classes, arriving home and reading a book, forgetting about essays and tasks even if it was for a moment. Maybe it was not the rebelliousness of the movies, but it was  _she_  who chose to do it on her own.

"I always... I always do the same. It's always the same damn routine." Sparkle was not sure if what was shaking were her hands, or it was the cup because of the force exerted on it. But if it broke she could not care less, at this point the wounds were inherent to the skin, the body, the being, everything. "And I  _hate_  it. It disgusts me, it makes me nauseous. I didn't choose it.  _I didn't make it._ "

She wanted to be able to choose which sciences to study. Wanted to be banal and stupid for as long as possible without worrying about the hour limits or what her tongue would let off. Wanted the bile to stop going up the esophagus to her throat. Wanted the damned rhythm of her heartbeat to stay where it belonged and stop going up to her ears. Wanted to remove the impurities rooted in the skin. Wanted the thorns to stop hurting her again and again- Wanted to stop paying for things that she never asked for and could never afford. Wanted to stop having to scratch the areas surrounding the bruises under the burning water to relieve herself in the pain caused by those small, open, and bleeding wounds. Wanted to sleep without the perceptions and alarms blooming in the skin. She wanted to rest. She wanted to rebuild herself.

She wanted that bright and beautiful future that everyone talked about but had never come to see.

She had the right to  _want_  something else, no?

"So I grabbed my things and I took a taxi here. I'm sorry, I know it was bad-timed but I didn't know where else to go and--"

A pair of hands stopped the tremors of hers, equal, in a firm grip but not strong and much less hard.

"Don't to apologize for deciding not to continue in a situation you don't feel comfortable in." That strange brightness in Twilight's eyes somehow it comforted her a little. With some truth in them but also like someone who sees in another a lost opportunity. "A part of me wished I had the courage to set foot outside my house without permission."

Was she envying her? For being a coward? For escaping?

"I don't think  _running away_  counts as something to value, Twilight."

Sparkle placed the empty cup on the coffee table in front of three of them, then reclined on the sofa. Her body sank between the pillows, and if it were not for the fact that now her head was riddled with tensions for renewed caffeine, she probably would have fainted on the couch.

"I know that maybe I'm not the best example." Sunset rubbed her neck nervously. "But Twilight's right. I mean, you really have to be convinced to decide that you want something different from what you were taught as correct. And even more convinced to abandon it for what you think is right, or fair. It takes a lot of courage to do that."

In that, perhaps, Sunset was right. It was not an easy decision. She was hesitating until the last minute, after investigating who knows how many exact days and taking information from all kinds of sources. Calculating variables, margins of error, possible results...

Everything ended up telling her that the best thing she could do was leave and to hell with everything else.

The conversation ended in some way in that little speech of the redhead. It had encouraged her a little, in some way. It was weird that a couple of words said with emotion in the right place would determine the mood in a positive way, but since it was working she did not want to question it too much. She supposed that doing different things, getting out of a routine, guaranteed to have uneven sensations.

Or so she thought when her doppelganger spoke again. For some reason, she was not as lively as always, looking crestfallen. Or at least with her head tucked into some hidden corner of her own mind.

"What do you plan on doing now?" Twilight inquired softly as if it were a sensitive question. But those were of a totally different kind.

"I read the protocol." So many times that she was sure she could recite it by heart. "...I didn't take a shower."

It took multiple attempts, multiple times until this last time. Where she left the boiling water running until it became the Antarctic thaw. Where she unleashed her fury in a torrent of silent tears. Where she threw up everything eaten at dinner until all she had left was a stomach devoid of even gastric juices since there was no other way to get rid of the nausea.

No, she had not taken a shower. Had not scratched the areas around the bruises until she revived herself with pain caused by those small, bleeding wounds. And the impurities were still there, inherent in the skin as if they were born with the cutaneous tissue of her wounds. Her hair was still way too horrible and way too thin, instead of way too damp. And she was wearing real pajamas, real pajamas covered by a winter jacket because the mid-season ones were no longer useful against the eighth grades in the morning, with common sneakers in order to disguise it a little better.

Sunset and Twilight exchanged a look of alert, of understanding, of implications and meanings that Sparkle was not sure what they wanted to convey. But immediately they turned their attention to her, to listen attentively to what she had to say.

She took in as much air her lungs allowed.

_Inhale. Exhale. Firm. Serious._

It was already decided.

Definitely, she was not going to retrace her steps.

"I want to go to the hospital."


	2. Extra 1 - So Many Hearts Overthrown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra n°1, in particular, happens the day after the end of the story, but they are not going to necessarily have a chronological or correlative order.  
> I find that this way, I can tell the stories that I want to tell instead of writing a forced sequel that would be as good as those second movies made for the sake of making a profit. It gives me more freedom, I think.

Twilight had the feeling that leaving home was one of the best decisions she could have made in years. Or maybe in her whole life, it was not too long after all.

Now that she thought about it, it could also be the added fact of starting the year in a different school. She always hated Crystal Prep. It was one of those institutions were most students who attended there believed themselves to be superior to others just because they wore a uniform and paid a monthly fee not even too expensive.

It supposedly had something to do with reputation, prestige, and the hypothetical fact that people who had done great things studied there. Along with other excuses to justify the belief of being of high birth, that Twilight cared for about as much as knowing the composition of the bricks with which the building was built (nothing).

The decision to change schools had been made by her parents, who knows why. It surely had to do with cutting down costs, or the pair of school citations they had the previous year, or something like that. The reason was not important, but the fact that sometimes they had good ideas.  _Very_  few times, that is why Twilight gave them credit when necessary.

Be that as it may, the most important thing of all was that she was out of both places.

The day before when the social worker asked her about a family member or trusted adult with whom she could to stay with, the first (or third) person that came to mind was Celestia. Her parents had a good relationship with her for many years, those where they went out for dinner frequently and if she remembered right, both families had spent one or two holidays together. Until it suddenly ended for a few more years without further explanation. Not that it was her business to know why.

Fortunately on the last period, when Twilight appeared at the school where Celestia was the head of the management team, the relationship seemed to recover by a small percentage. She had Celestia's phone number and on some occasions, the school principal had asked Twilight how she was doing, at brief conversations inside the school.

Even a couple of times, Twilight had come here to have dinner with her brother and Cadance. It was always fun because everyone seemed to be in an environment of full confidence. Where conversations covered all kinds of topics, where one could act more relaxed. It was fun to be able to forget for a second all of the bad things in life, to chat without (so many) measured behaviors and to distract for a while, even when being surrounded by adult people.

Besides, there always was an elaborate cake or ice cream dessert at which Twilight often found herself looking for a thousand excuses as to why it was a good idea to ingest it, no matter how much guilt it might give her later.

Twilight was not sure how many days she would stay exactly, having received so much information and instructions about what to do or what was going to happen in a single day. When she woke up this very next morning she found her head totally blank, without being able to recall half of the words.

In fact, she barely remembered the name of her social assistant just because she had come down to greet her a while ago; when she arrived to talk with Celestia about some things and to ask her how she was doing. Contrary to movies and general beliefs (and therefore, her own), the woman seemed quite competent as far as her work was concerned. Explaining with patience what things would be like from now, keeping a prudent distance and being quite friendly. They could add that to the television show where myths are disproved. It would be  _quite_  useful.

Twilight did not have the slightest idea how many days her stay in Celestia's house would last. What she had certainty on, was that it took fifteen steps from the beginning of the stairs to reach the door of the room where she was in, the last one at the end of the hall.

Of course she had measured and counted them the night before, and she also did the same with calculating the distance between all the bedrooms. She  _had to_ , she had done it in all her previous houses and by logic, this one would not fall into any kind of exception to the rule. In the same sense, Twilight was caught in the need to check for a characteristic noise at the door of the room, such as the creak of a hinge, or a metallic noise inside the lock, or a harder-than-normal knob. Fortunately, the latter turned out to be one of those that you have to turn, with a button in the middle to lock the door from inside. So if someone tried to enter by any possible method, she would hear them.

Someone without context would surely classify it as a "bad habit". Twilight preferred to call it for what it was: security measures to know when her system should be on alert. Not that it was too necessary to have the guard up, her parents were not supposed to have Celestia's address, but better to be safe than have another visit to the hospital.

Be that as it may, her calculations proved correct, when after fifteen steps the shadow of a figure could be seen in front of her door. As always, Twilight had lost concentration in the book in her hands to direct it towards the footsteps, its pace and direction. The floor in the hall was placed with a different technique from that of her (old?) house, so the sound could be heard a little more hollow and lighter, to her fortune.

The figure took a couple of minutes to slowly knock on the door. Twilight had a vague idea of who it might be, judging by the knocking and certain tones of voice on the main floor that had manifested a while ago.

"Twily? I'm Shining, can I come in?"

As supposed, it was her brother on the other side of the door. It took her no more than two seconds to give him an affirmative answer while she was about to sit cross-legged and use the headboard of the bed as a backrest. Twilight rearranged the pillow too so that her back would not suffer so much against the wood. Otherwise, she would end up humping it too much and the current contractures were more than enough.

Shining greeted her with a smile that could not completely disguise his search for an anomaly, for something different that might be present in Twilight's structure but completely invisible to the untrained eye. Something that needed higher, more secret, more important knowledge.

"Good... Uh, afternoon? I don't even know what time it is." She greeted back, with the same (pretended, almost) casualty as always. This time did not have to be an exception, however unmotivating it might be the reason for his visit. Twilight did not want to encourage any kind of conversation other than banal or light.

"It's almost four thirty, Sleeping Ugly.” She frowned when Shining disheveled her bangs, just to annoy her. "What happened to the watch you had the other time?"

Twilight responded to the gesture by squinting. Whoever touched her hair deserved at least an irritated look as an answer. Before, it would have annoyed her more the fact that she had to comb the hairstyle she was using at that moment again perfectly, which took more work than it seemed. However, now that she had become accustomed to keeping the hair loose, it was enough to brush it a little with her fingers so that it could return to its natural form. Too many years with tied hair thanks to school rules or personal excuses led to the point where a simple ponytail hurt the scalp. Not to mention that some time ago her mother obliged her to retouch it at the hair salon and, without six inches of split ends it looked more beautiful and shiny. Though it was still way too thin and therefore detestable.

"The watch band broke." The watch was back in the house, probably in the small trash can of her (old?) room if her mother had not yet thought of emptying its contents. She ruined it completely, during one of her usual showers at the wee hours of the morning when she forgot to take it off for having her head focused on the right priorities. Still, Twilight used it to check the time as much as she watched the calendar on the wall of her old bedroom (from time to time), so it was not too important of an object. But if Twilight could avoid a lecture from her brother about her bad habits, so be it. "I still couldn't change it. Anyways, I forgot it at home, so..."

Twilight chose to shrug rather than finish the sentence. As often, the tongue betrayed the rhythm of thought, cornering her against the figurative corner with the name of 'straight to the point'. Maybe her unconscious wanted to end this thing once and for all, rather than going around in circles. Or maybe she was just too exhausted in every possible way to be able to think coherently enough.

Shining seemed to understand it as a supposed invitation to stop wasting time on unnecessary introductions. He decided not to comment on the damned watch with anything else than a nod, if a little surprised. He immediately fell into that neutral expression of deep thinking of one who is actually locked in an internal debate. Probably about how to face certain things.

Twilight hated that Shining sometimes took so long looking for the best possible words to use. But at the same time, she had to admit that it caused her some tenderness, given that he took the trouble to make her feel as comfortable as possible. The same happened with spaces; always an arm's length away. Or as now, sitting on the far end of the bed while she was at the beginning, twisting the edge of the sheets nervously.

She needed one of those diet chewing gums with more of a toothpaste flavor than eucalyptus with urgency, or perhaps the peppermints were a better option. Twilight surely had some in her backpack where she decided to keep her most important belongings, on the desk chair, but she did not want to get up to look for them. She also did not want a possible lecture on why she should not indulge in that edible garbage. A thing that could not be denied in case she was accused of. Since yes, those things had too many additives. At least they gave good breath, which was quite important at the time of introducing oneself to--

A sigh. One that she did not know exactly how to take.

“...I guess you must know why I'm here, right?”

Twilight looked from one corner of the room to the other, where her brother took up the field of vision. It was not too big, but it was small and comfortable. Bright too.

"I assume that my social worker called you to explain why I decided to leave home." The words came out quicker than she meant. Though she tried to keep her upright posture as if she had made a good decision (if the other Twilight looked like that with so little effort, it was likely that she would too, right?).

She had to stand firm, convinced beyond the opinion Shining could possibly have. Twilight was not going back anywhere.

She wanted to be able to choose which sciences to study. Wanted to be banal and stupid for as long as possible without worrying about the hour limits or what her tongue would let off. Wanted the bile to stop going up the esophagus to her throat. Wanted the damned rhythm of her heartbeat to stay where it belonged and stop going up to her ears. Wanted to remove the impurities rooted in the skin. Wanted the thorns to stop hurting her again and again- Wanted to stop paying for things that she never asked for and could never afford. Wanted to stop having to scratch the areas surrounding the bruises under the burning water to relieve herself in the pain caused by those small, open, and bleeding wounds. Wanted to sleep without the perceptions and alarms blooming in the skin.

She wanted to rest. She wanted to rebuild herself.

One day away from home proved to be enough to understand that there, she would not achieve anything different. Her opinion did not matter to her parents, nor did it matter how she felt, or what the hell was going through her mind, or if she isolated herself in her room all day. Twilight was not sure if they loved her as much as they claimed, if she had been forced into that damn routine she hated with every fiber of her being.

She had, then, the right to  _want_  something different, right?

Another sigh, like someone on the sly. Or maybe Twilight knew her brother too well and that allowed her to have a more accurate idea of what he might be thinking.

"Twily, I want you to be honest with what I'm going to ask, okay?" She had never seen Shining so serious and nervous at the same time. Not even at his wedding where he was nothing more than a ball of nerves and anxiety, which translated to adjusting his suit over again and over again in front of the mirror. Now Shining seemed to be forcing himself to say words that he did not really want to, but that responsibility forced him to. "Was it really... was it really dad who... who took advantage of you?"

Sparkle felt her heart stop for a second. Or maybe it was her breathing. Or her whole system. Or everything altogether. She was not sure anymore of anything but that the world stopped for a moment. Just like when the steps turned out to be seven. It was a lucky number in many cultures. In her life, it was synonymous with hell.

Take advantage of...?

_…What?_

No, no, it was an implicit agreement where--

Where she always lost, for some reason.

_Be useful once and think, Twilight. What's the definition of that word?_

_It's a transitive verb, ok_. Sparkle had no idea what that meant and it was not relevant to the case either, but the visual memory of when she read the dictionary as a little girl did not fail.  _To get the most benefit out of a thing or a situation, right? The greatest personal benefit._

Twilight Sparkle (as a whole) always ended up losing, even if they told her otherwise. She always ended up without sleep. Or receiving a lecture on what she was doing wrong. Or if she failed a subject at school then the scolding went towards her person. Or losing the peak of good manners that was punctuality. Or with some superficial damage on the cutaneous tissue. Or simply ended up tired, destroyed,  _sick_  of always repeating the same actions.

And everything for what? To have a roof over her head and a bed to sleep on? To live with a deplorable state of mind for never fulfilling damned expectations?

The ghost of Social Services was not as terrifying as always portrayed. "You had to fear the living, not the dead" Velvet used to say.

"You're not giving me an answer, Twily."

Twilight blinked, coming out of the sudden self-absorption. She was twisting the edge of the bed sheets so tightly between her hands that even her arms were trembling.

"...I guess it's one way of describing it..." Twilight murmured slowly. Like she had been put into a conversation suddenly and with a minimal context.

"There is no other way, Twi," Shining spoke under his breath, and Twilight realized that she was not the only one with trembling hands and fogged eyes. Her brother had his eyes focused on some imaginary point, like someone who had a certain kind of suspicion. And at the same time, he looked so overwhelmed that he could not have a concrete reaction, as if he had too many emotions spinning in his head.

The only memory she had of ever seeing him like that, was when their maternal grandfather died. Twilight was about five years old at the time. If her memory did not fail, she was the only one in her class who could read and even write several words, and the smock was as green and uncomfortable as the color of the room, the last one before elementary school.

Twilight remembered herself more confused than sad, after being told her grandfather had gone up there, to a place beyond the clouds where everyone would inevitably end up one day. She remembered looking at the fishes swimming in the small lake of the funeral home, her father telling her which was which and what were the differences between them. A distracting attempt from the anguish that vigils meant. Or maybe it was due to the fact that she was asking too many questions.

She remembered dragging Shining to that same small lake, to tell him what she had learned five minutes ago in an effort to cheer him up. Twilight knew that he and his grandfather were pretty close, they always went fishing together, while she stayed with her grandmother playing with the clams on the riverbank.

And in spite of the fact that one or two foreign tears fell, which were quickly wiped off because a good man did not shed tears in front of anyone but himself (and if he did it in front of his sister, she kept the secret). Even though his eyes were fogged and red, he still took it upon himself to listen to her and smile at her when she talked about the fishes. Or to laugh when she confused the names. Or to dishevel her hair, only to annoy her.

Shining could be devastated, and yet he would take the time to look for the best words, the trouble of giving Twilight her own space so that she felt as comfortable as possible. He would still smile at her, just to not make her feel bad.

However now the only thing that it caused was the opposite. He would not be like this if she had not opened her mouth. If she had not gone to the hospital. If she had not run away from home. If she had not visited the centers. If she had not investigated. If she had not taken the damn paper.

But Twilight had the right to want something different. Though she could not help feeling like the source of all evil, like Pandora the imbecile who opened the box only because of her insatiable and morbid curiosity. She would have to live with the guilt, she supposed.

Suddenly, Twilight felt fire.

And it felt strange. The flames did not seem to have an origin in her insides, nor in her useless and destroyed soul, nor did it melt the organs or turn the bones into fiery embers. The fire was external, from the air around her. It climbed from the base of the spine to the back of her neck, to her hair way-too-thin and way-too-soft but still way too detestable. It scorched her skin, wrapped her torso with such heat that it made her hair stand on end from the chills.

"I'm sorry, Twily. I'm so sorry..."

Shining was hugging her, with all the firmness and care with which one holds a small infant, with whom one carries a box with a 'fragile' sign printed on top. With the desperation and the fear that at any minimally rough or measured movement she would break.

Sunset had done something similar the previous day when she saw her at the door of her building, almost at six in the morning. And, though Twilight at that moment was with a thick layer of insensitivity on top, it was enough (before, and now, in fact) to realize that she hated it. Or that at the very least it gave her certain sense of rejection.

What do you do when you break a glass? Whether glass or crystal, the only action to be done is to collect the pieces to throw them away. The only care you have is not to hurt your own fingers, the object is already broken and therefore it does not matter if it breaks even more in the process. It is useless.

"I should have listened when you asked me if you could come and live with me and Cady."

Hearing that somehow made Sparkle react, or maybe it was Twilight, she did not know if it was even relevant. The point was that she was still squeezing the sheets between her hands, stuck to the ribs.

Sparkle did not return hugs, Twilight might consider it if the moon turned blue. Would the  _other_ Twilight hug people? She had never seen her do it, either.

However, that was on the second (or fifth) category of her mental list of priorities. Time to go back to the ones in first place.

She had to search the deep corners of her memory until she found the moment when she said such thing.

"Shiny, that was years ago." Twilight was twelve, judging by the fact that her first year of high school, the house was a place of constant tension. Not only because of her brother and the alleged wrong decisions he had made about his life, those were common fights since Twilight was at least eight. But because she had also decided to put in her two cents with frightening grades.

It could be said that it was strange for the fact that Twilight had always been, according to her teachers, a 'star student'. Hoarding all existing mentions in terms of best GPA referred to and ending with burnt ears from the typical subsequent wordiness about her merits in the school system. Sometimes, yes, it helped to inflate the ego a bit. But usually she did not like to draw so much attention. Twilight had always been very curious and liked to learn about everything that crossed her sight.

However, high school was a bit more different. For some it was more demanding, for others it meant a new world where the real social events occurred. For Twilight it was a place to study according to the orientation her parents chose for her. At that time she could not say it bothered her, given that the careers she had as an option were interesting. A part of her still considered them.

But like everything, there are certain things, certain opinions, certain feelings, that change over time. She was not sure exactly if that happened before or after as some memories were better buried. Only that within that period, her life became different.

 _Very_  different, in fact.

And suddenly it was more fun to recover lost sleep hours in class without caring in the least if she failed a subject before having to, well, approve it with a radiant ten. Sometimes she would also read a book, and/or pay attention to the subjects that awakened her interest, or where she had already rested enough to concentrate, which represented a very low percentage in the totality.

Her parents did not take long in announcing their discontent, she soon continued without paying attention to them to seclude herself in her room the whole summer to study. And so the story repeated itself until the middle of the following year. After winter break, they decided that maybe attending the land of pompous people that was Crystal Prep would be a good idea. To raise her grades to radiant tens again? Yes. Everything else?  _Even more detestable._

"Plus, you and I know that it was quite impossible. And nothing would have changed." Twilight found herself muttering that last sentence, in an attempt to keep her brother from listening.

In the midst of the tensions, the changes, the lectures, the school citations, the constant fights, Twilight had asked her brother if there would be any chance of moving in with him. The answer, by logic, was negative. It had to do with how much everything would complicate, rather than lack of will.

What she could clearly remember was the promise Shining had made at that moment, of helping her leave as quickly as possible when she reached the age of majority or was close enough to it. That had been etched in her head as a permanent plan for the future.

"What do you mean, it wouldn't have changed anything?" Twilight apparently had not talked as muffled as she thought, or maybe Shining had better hearing than her sister gave him the credit.

"I mean what I mean, Shining." Again, she looked at the other corner of the room, at the backpack on the desk chair. She needed one of those diet chewing gums with more of a toothpaste flavor than eucalyptus with urgency, or maybe some peppermints were a better option. In any case, Twilight did not want to get up to look for either of them. She did not want a lecture on why that edible garbage was bad because of the number of additives it possessed.

Actually, it may not be a bad idea, if it redirected the conversation...

"Twily, how... how long has this happened?" Her brother seemed more uncomfortable than she could ever be. And the blame kept burning her body, scorching her skin, turning the bones into glowing embers from the inside out, from the outside to the inside.

How do you answer a question that you do not know? Because really, Twilight did not have the slightest idea.

"Does it even matter?"

Or maybe, in some dark, unknown corner of her mind was the answer. Somewhere, hidden, it sure would be the first sin with a luxury of details intoxicated with cynicism. Because there are certain things, certain opinions, certain feelings that can never be buried or forgotten, even if blocked and pretended to be extinct.

"It’s my fault anyway." Twilight heard her own voice break and had to blink a couple of times to clarify the sight of the distorted shapes at the sudden hydration that the lacrimal glands exerted on her corneas. It was strange, somehow she was subjected to the impertinent introspections and the hypersensitivity of the skin while trying to get back in tune with what was going on around her. "God, we shouldn't be having this conversation."

However, Twilight really,  _really_  did not want to know anything. If there was something that she always wanted to remain ignorant about, it was that. But no. There went Twilight, there went Pandora to open the box with her insatiable and morbid curiosity to unleash all the evils on the world, on her family, on her brother, on all those around her, on herself.

"Twi, it's not your fault." Shining's voice sounded soft and careful, steady, close to her ear. She felt the fire subside a little, or perhaps it had already melted with her own body temperature and it now felt more welcoming than burning. In any case, she snuggled closer to the form that wrapped her.

"Yes, it is, Shiny." That did not mean she would stop feeling guilty. If the current torrent of tears gave any kind of clue.

"No, it's not."

Twilight frowned, annoyed.

" _It is._ " Could they not talk like the adults they were?

"No, Twilight." Before she could deliver some kind of discontentment onomatopoeia and oppose him in a childish way no matter how hypocritical, she felt her brother take her firmly by the shoulders. At this point, Twilight felt the body as firm as jelly and not even the pain in the back could keep her straight. With enough distance to be face to face, to feel a kind of cold that she did not remember was there before. "You don't have to take charge of things that aren't your responsibility."

"But it feels like it... You're here because of me, aren't you?" Twilight could not look at Shining in the face for more than three seconds, as much as she wanted to. So she settled down to look for a package of disposable tissues around the room. It was not too big, but it was small and comfortable; it was bright too.

"I'm here because I care what happens to you, Twily. Whether it's good, bad, or doesn't even make sense to you." She did not know if she was being too obvious, or Shining knew her enough to know what she needed. But he started searching in his pockets until he found a pair of disposable tissues. Probably both. She knew that her brother had a handkerchief, too, and Twilight  _hated_  handkerchiefs. "I'm always here for whatever you need me for."

Shining Armor was capable of speaking to her with such great conviction that even sometimes, as children, he had (almost,  _almost_ ) convinced her of absurd things like an object was blue when it actually looked yellow. But those were typical sibling things. Twilight had never been a saint, either, as far as annoying him was concerned. And now, except for a few exceptions where they once again pretended to be kids, Shining only did so when he spoke  _seriously_  when his words were as genuine as his good intentions.

Twilight could not look at his face for more than three seconds in a row, so she glanced at him while blowing her nose. Just to verify the authenticity of his words. Only to calm those little bubbles of doubt about his intentions, that exploded when she saw his exhausted appearance from working extra shifts to be able to dedicate himself to his future daughter.

It was impossible to not feel the blame continuing to scorch her skin, to turn the bones into glowing embers from the inside out, from the outside to the inside. Shining was here, now, trying to cheer her up even though he knew that Twilight was too stubborn sometimes. Bothering to make her feel comfortable, without hesitating for a moment of her story. He always believed more in her words than in that of their parents. Twilight never understood the exact reason, but supposed it had to do with the record of tensions and arguments her brother had with them.

Sparkle did not return hugs, Twilight might consider it when the moon turned blue. She still decided to fight against any chill, discomfort, or fire, comes the case, that any contact with another living being could make and embrace Shining with all the strength that her sore muscles allowed. The lacrimal glands hydrated her corneas way too much again. Yet a strange sensation, more welcoming and a million times more comforting than the blame or the outer burning fire accumulated in her chest.

"You are the best brother I could ever ask for. You know that, right?"

Maybe today the moon would end with a burst of colors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What follows: Twilight talk.
> 
> Suggestions are accepted!


	3. Extra 2 - I Wish I Could Turn The Hands Of Time, And That I Lost Could Be Mine

Twilight got off the bus on North Canterlot's main avenue, at twenty-one minutes past three in the afternoon on a Wednesday, January tenth. Not without instantly hating the heat wave with which she was received, after getting used to the air conditioning of the vehicle.

 

Her destination was two and a half blocks from where she stood, and with seven extra minutes, Twilight was sure that a tranquil pace she would even leave a couple left to spare. However, the small,  _ imperious _ need to be extremely punctual required her to walk as quickly as possible. Both to the destination and to any minimal piece of shade that could exist. Not even with a summer dress or sandals, was it possible to escape from the high temperatures that the sidewalk steamed off, like small snakes willing to wrap everything in fire.

 

Twilight breathed in at three twenty-six. Two seconds before confirming that it was the right street and the correct address number. As announced by the small plaque on the house, the post at the corner of the street and the note in her little notebook in a calligraphy that, according to her, was becoming more and more neat.

 

The house was a standard size for those surrounding the area. Not as small and narrow as those tiny duplexes, nor so excessively large to occupy a whole block quarter. With walls in meticulous white, wooden doors in bright varnish, a small front garden with well-maintained and colorful flowers, two floors and a garage. It may not be the standard housing of the average population, on the contrary, but given the context, Twilight could not say she was surprised.

 

The last time she stepped into that house, had been six months ago, leaving it with a mixture of feelings that she really did not know how to describe. A whirlwind would be, in the most simplistic and cliché of cases, the best way to name them.

 

Breathing out again, Twilight wiped the sweat from her forehead and the nape of her neck with a disposable handkerchief. She shook invisible dust particles from the skirt of her dress, made sure that the latter was in correct position on her shoulders; reaffirmed the clasp on that impromptu bun she had tied her hair into because of the unbearable heat, straightened her back and finally rung the doorbell of the entrance gate — also white in coordination with the general aesthetic.

  
At... Twenty-nine minutes past three. Perfect.

 

She was not counting the seconds, no, no. She had no reason to do so if she focused on having an idea of how many minutes passed in order to arrive on time.

 

Twilight did not understand the exact reason for the need to look as presentable as possible. Or maybe, if she was honest with herself, she was so aware that it was her head thinking at two thousand kilometers per hour, forming theories and speculations, that wanting to have a notion of control over the stupidest things possible proved to be an attempt of distraction. The best of all, in fact. To her already worn misfortune by the things of life.

 

Speaking of punctuality, after one or two minutes of sudden self-absorption, a very familiar someone spied through the curtains of the window on the ground floor to corroborate who it was. And within the next few seconds, Twilight could hear clearly the keys operating on the front door.

 

It had been at least three or four months since she last saw Sparkle. They did not tend to cross paths too much, even though they shared the same group of friends on this side of the mirror. Each had a life to take over and, apparently, quite different schedules. Not to mention that Twilight tried to visit whenever she could, but it was not necessarily often.

 

Sparkle was still as thin as always, however now it seemed more like a product of an accelerated metabolism rather than of her own will (though Twilight sure was at least one extra size for  _ several _ reasons. Recent holidays included). Blue-jean shorts with a high cut, along with a gray T-shirt with short white lace sleeves were a positive contrast to the kind of clothes she had always seen her wear. Her loose hair that reached her chest also suited her well.

 

Sparkle received her with a much more calm and sincere smile than the one that she could have dedicated to her six —or ten, for that matter— months ago. Twilight answered with an enthusiastic one, before exchanging more or less formal greetings and starting a conversation about how detestable high temperatures were with its humid climates and the salvation that meant the great invention of the air conditioners.

 

Once inside, Twilight felt her shoulders relax a little. The girl in front of her looked different, she looked  _ better _ , more radiant, more alive. With less noticeable dark circles and a naturally straight back. Like someone who had decided to remove a portion of the weight they were carrying.

  
Like Twilight when she realized that there were things that would not happen again. That, even if the demands remained the same, but the boundaries and consequences were different.

 

Everything was still in the same place she remembered from the first and last time she had visited. Same furniture, same tidiness and general order that was always welcome to invade her visual field. Same giant library in the living room that revived the childhood curiosity that Twilight was forced to repress before she ended up diverting in that direction.

  
"You drink coffee?" Sparkle asked once they were settled in the kitchen. She had a measuring spoon in one hand and a jar of said ground beans in the other, like she knew what her response would be.   
  


"Yes, thank you." Twilight could be engulfed in the endless flames of Tartarus' infernal heat, and even then coffee would be her first choice in the face of any sentence.

 

They spent a minute or two in which neither spoke. Sparkle concentrated taking as accurate measures as possible to place them in the coffee maker, turning her back for a moment to Twilight. Who simply dedicated herself to observe what the other girl was doing and to enjoying a silence that, given by itself, was not uncomfortable at all.

 

Until she noticed the scars on the forearms of her human counterpart and felt her unconscious smile fade along with the barrier with which she had been able to stop speculations, anxieties, and fears.

 

They were small, from the last third of the forearm to the elbow. Thin, with small spaces between them, as if they had formed an entire line before. In a lighter color than her skin tone without shouting their presence, but still visible, still notorious. And when Twilight realized, her own hands were already stretching the skirt of her dress, trying to cover as much skin as possible with sudden self-consciousness.

  
Sparkle could look better, more alive, more like herself. That did not necessarily mean that she  _ was  _ better, that she  _ felt _ one hundred percent better. It had been just six months, for Twilight almost seven damn  _ years _ had passed and there were still things that she could not control.

 

"So, uh... How are you doing?" Twilight decided to cut the silence and start a conversation. Before the air got heavy or her head went to places where she definitely did not want to be. "In the end, you stayed to live here?"

  
Sparkle nodded, taking two clean cups from the cupboard.

 

"Actually, they gave my custody to Celestia. The judge preferred me to I stay with the trusted adult I went to than with another male relative." She rinsed them with a little dish soap and water, then dried them with a dishcloth each. For the contamination and/or reproduction of bacteria that were totally benign, but that still created a certain degree of paranoia that was better to get rid of. "In December I managed to approve six of the eleven subjects that I failed, so I hope to approve the other five in February. You drink white coffee, right?"

 

It took three seconds and a blink for Twilight to understand that she had been asked a question.

  
"Oh! Uh... yeah. And without sugar, thanks."

  
Sparkle took more exact measurements, before applying different almost-perfect portions of milk to each of the coffees and bringing them to the table.

  
"I take care of my niece whenever I can... I don’t know, the usual, I guess" she summarized, pausing to take a sip of her drink. The other girl tried to process everything she had heard to make some kind of comment because that was how the conversations worked, right? "And you? How's your life,  _ Princess _ ?"

 

Twilight rolled her eyes at the unnecessary title. Sparkle knew perfectly well how much she hated it, judging from the small, well-concealed smile. It was a friendly way to bother her — now, at least — and to keep the conversation going before they got stuck on a subject that, evidently, she did not really want to address too much.

 

"Returning to stability for the umpteenth time, I suppose." Something always,  _ always _ happened that took her out of the place where she began to feel comfortable. So much so, that Twilight no longer knew if she was the problem entirely or just a very good magnet for that kind of thing. "We recently reached a year with Sunset, I was able to have a conversation with Velvet without it ending badly, and for now work isn’t  _ so _ heavy, thankfully."

 

"Velvet? You call your mother by her name?" asked Sparkle, blinking with what seemed a genuine curiosity.

 

Twilight nodded. She was used to the fact that whenever that escaped her mouth around someone who did not know her too much, they ended up doing the typical inquisitions out of place. In general, she argued that it was nothing more than a name. Shrugging to minimize the importance and indicate in a subtle way that it was nothing that their incumbency obviously included. Act that she repeated now, not wanting to inquire too much into the subject.

 

"She never took care of me as such. I don't know if she didn't know how, or didn't want to." With her counterpart, it was impossible to lie to one another. They could try it, they could give it to understand that it was a topic to be evaded or a subject to be discussed later, but they always found  _ that something _ that gave them away, something that only they could identify as mere façade. There was no point in lying to the only person who could understand what she meant by that, anyway. "I guess both."

 

Instead of frowning at the commentary overloaded with cynicism, Sparkle stared at her own ceramic mug with generic flowers, seemingly immersed in her own reflections. Twilight took a conscious gulp of her coffee for the first time, trying to appease the growing anxiety. 

 

"I should start implementing it..." murmured the girl in front of her about fifteen seconds later, turning her gaze again to another non-existent point on the table.

 

It took Twilight another two seconds to understand what she was talking about. When she was able to connect the pieces in relation to what she had heard less than five minutes ago but that, nevertheless, she was only now able to understand.

 

"They... They took your custody away from your mother?" she asked slowly. Maybe it was a little late for that, though it was not like Sparkle gave her a chance to ask before.

 

The aforementioned nodded with some shyness in the movement. Would Twilight have sounded too disbelieving despite her efforts to make sure she used the right tone? Though she supposed that it should not be an easy subject. As far as she knew, physical and/or legal custody could be lost or passed on to one of the parents in a divorce or similar cases. It was not irreversible as the patria potestas, that required a much longer and complex trial, but for it to be taken away from her mother, there had to be a very good reason. One that Twilight was not sure she wanted to hear.

 

"She went to pick me up at school once saying she wanted us to talk. I didn't think it was too stupid to believe she wanted to listen to me for the first time in her life." Sparkle told it in a low and decisive tone, like a bad anecdote, a disappointing anecdote where her expectations proved too high, or useless, or illusory. It was palpable in the air, noticeable in the brightness of her eyes that once again set in the varnish of the table, visible in the restrained tension of the shoulders. "The point is, when we got to the house, turns out my… that my dad was also there. I have a restraining order against him."

 

Naturally, that last sentence was followed by a horrible silence.

 

Twilight felt a familiar and uncomfortable tingling in her spine. One which she had never lost the habit, one that stole her body heat to the point that she had to wrap her hands around the cup in an attempt to stop their tremor.

 

Sparkle seemed to notice the reaction she was producing and immediately clarified that nothing had happened to her, that she tried all the time to keep as much distance as possible. 

 

"They just wanted to chat and reach an agreement. To be honest I don't know and I don't care," she added, with a heavy sigh. "There are more legal ways."

 

Twilight could only nod, going along. There was something that did not add up, that told her Sparkle was not being completely honest, or that at least she was keeping important details. However, she decided not to dig deeper and drown the bitter taste of bad sensations in caffeine.

 

After all, she could not say she was surprised, no matter how much she hated to admit it. Her mother would have done the same, or worse.

 

"Wanna eat something? Sorry I didn't offer you before," asked her counterpart suddenly, standing up. To cut the tension and fictional silence, supposed Twilight. "There's apple cake."

 

"You know I can't refuse these things." She accepted, with the best casual attitude she could achieve. It was not ideal if Twilight took into account all the sweet things she was eating lately. But better kill the anxiety with a good dose of sugar than drown in it.

 

Two minutes later, they found themselves opposite to each other. Each with a medium-sized plate of pale beige ceramic, a fork that was certainly not silver but looked like it, and a slice of homemade apple cake. Twilight could not help but notice that Sparkle's slice was barely a third of the standard size, like the one given to her. However, she refrained from making any comments. It was not her place, she could not meddle in her life more than she had already done. Besides, she was ingesting something else besides black coffee, right? That was an improvement, at least.

 

"It's good." Twilight decided to swallow the worry before it resurfaced completely and changed the subject. "Did you bake it?"

 

"If peeling and cutting the apples counts, then yes." Sparkle commented with a small smile. "Celestia made it, she loves to cook sweet things. I'm more of a salt person."

 

"You get along with her, don't you?" 

 

"She's like..." Sparkle began to make circles in the air with her fork, searching for the words that suited her idea best. "Like that aunt that you wish would be your mother or something like that."

 

"I know the feeling." Twilight felt the corners of her own lips rise. Princess Celestia was the one who had always been there for her. Be it offering her a cup of tea at the end of their lessons to get her distracted when the frustration over some failed spell was too much, or when stress and fatigue fell like lead on her shoulders. Many other times, Twilight had also accompanied her at tea time just to chat, always returning home with something to reflect on. "It's good to have someone like that."

 

"I guess,” she commented, cutting her slice into equal parts. "At least I don't have to put up with lectures if a do something in a way she doesn’t like."

 

Well, there went the attempt for a more casual and positive conversation.

 

In her particular case, Twilight's parents had not been strict. Of course, there were schedules and norms that had to be respected, tasks to fulfill and responsibilities to carry out on the daily basis of the — apparent — family normality. It was more of a structured organization, rather than strict. Her father used to be quite permissive, beyond the fact the everything had an implicit cost to pay and his authority came from it. Her mother was the opposite, sometimes she would not give her the time of day and would send her to her father or brother to take care of her. Others, she was so over everything Twilight did to the point of annoyance. At least it was a sign that her mother cared, right?

 

And Shining, having a difference of ten years, was always the balance between the two, the closest thing to a healthy parent figure. Several times he had taken care of her better than any of his parents would have. Shining was the only one with whom she could say she got along with greatly and that she adored with all her being.

 

Twilight did not realize that the conversation was over, each of them occupied with what they had in front of them. Until Sparkle decided to take it up again.

 

"Speaking of parental figures and all that, can I... ask you something?" The aforementioned stopped short, her fork with a piece of dessert suspended in the air for a second. Twilight made a sound of affirmation before resuming her activity as calmly as possible. If Sparkle was asking for permission, in this context, it was likely to be something sensitive. "It's going to sound weird, but, how... did your father die? If it's too personal pretend I didn’t say anything, really."

 

There was a genuine curiosity in the tone, still trying to be as sensitive as the subject would allow. Twilight exhaled air through her nose before sipping coffee to lower the food and respond more clearly.

 

Her father’s death was not something she had trouble talking about at all. Not only had it been of public knowledge at the time, being a recognized figure in his field of work, but it had also happened a long time ago. And it was difficult to stay with any feeling given the events.

 

"As an astronomer, he worked at the Canterlot Research Center studying the influence of celestial bodies on living beings. At that time he worked in a joint investigation to know how the moon affected the poison mortality in a scorpion, that if I'm not mistaken, was becoming an epidemic in Saddle Arabia." Twilight remembered that as a child, adults who knew her father used to burn her ears off with compliments about the great job he did to help society. She also remembered to nod her head or keep quiet until they stopped talking. If he was so great, who would believe her if she said the opposite? "I don't know how it happened, only that he came in contact with the poison and, uh, they found him in the lab, the next day."

 

At that point, Twilight used to go back home alone from school, or wait until her brother if he ended his shift at the royal guard to walk home together. That day it had been strange seeing Shining waiting for her at the front door at the end of the school day. Thirty minutes and half a dozen donuts later received the news, still halfway to the house.

 

She never knew why, but that was the only time Twilight shed tears. She did not remember having started crying at the funeral, the anguish was only belonging to those around her. Twilight had remained motionless, looking at her father's lifeless body as if at some point he was going to get up, like it was only a joke. Until her mother took her out of self-absorption to give her a white lily when it was her turn to say goodbye and give him good wishes for a sure ascent. She placed the flower carefully in the coffin, hiding it so that it would not be seen that it had been withered after a simple spell.

 

"Ah," Sparkle murmured after a moment of polite silence, still crushing her cake slice in equal parts over and over again. "Now I think I get it".

 

That last sentence left Twilight frowning in confusion, since in spite of the low and withdrawn tone she still managed to hear it. 

 

“Get what?” She asked slowly, not understanding. The temporalities of the events? The spectrum of parallels? There was something in Sparkle's tone that she did not like. As if she had just won a game where Twilight did not know she was participating.

 

Definitely, that comment had been involuntary, unconscious, or whatever it was. Sparkle seemed to panic for a second until she realized what she had muttered aloud. It was then that she crossed her arms, her expression dropped, and the quiet atmosphere with which they had begun changed drastically.

 

"You know what I mean." They seemed to have gone back in time eight months ago. To the school library, to intense visual communication, to measured movements full of enormous meanings. 

 

And as in early May of last year, Twilight met a defiant look on an expressionless face. One who warned her that fire ate the predetermined truths, that she would end up in ashes. Because if both did not end up in the same state, then they would  _ never _ be even.

 

She inhaled air through the nose in the most concealed way possible. So as not to show that the exasperation was quite triumphant and rapid in the terms of traversing the skin were concerned. Twilight was not going to go through this again. No, no and _ no _ .

 

But if they were here to have an honest talk, there were not have many alternatives left.

 

To the bonfire, then.

 

"No. I don’t have the slightest idea why you believe that having a pair of wings and a polished little crown resolves and absolves you all evil." Is not like Twilight wanted to rub her own problems in her face. But Sparkle had this idea that  _ everything _ was easier for her. As if she had been given to choose from a tray of silver what events she wanted in her life to happen. A little pepper to encourage the drama with a tragic background and then a few spoonfuls of salt to cover up all the fiery flavor. "Because my sleep disorders are still there, my anxiety problems  _ are still there _ . Everything is still in the  _ same _ damn place."

 

Twilight wished she could cover everything with huge and extensive saltpeter. Wished things had been so easy.

 

Wished Sparkle was easy to convince without the need for physical and concrete evidence.

 

"Your father died when you were barely ten, Twilight,” she reproached her. As if the answer was there in a poster, obvious and giant in front of her nose and she could not see it because she just did not feel like it. "Didn't we speak thousands of times of the amplitude in the parallel spectrum?"

 

Twilight frowned even more bewildered, at the tone of her counterpart. How did that automatically translate into something positive? What kind of train of thought was she following to reach all these absurd conclusions?

 

"And what do you think? That I went to talk to you because I spied you through the window? That I stole your diary? Do you have any idea how hard it was for me?" Twilight had actually taken the trouble to visit several centers of the list and investigate every single site one by one, making sure that both the attention and the information were useful. It was not easy to sit down and talk about hypothetical cases and personal experiences with the guidance team.

 

Nor it was the best thing to do when she had almost been forced to cross the portal to clear her mind from the very same topic. It seemed like a pattern, getting into situations that made her feel horrible, and that was the reason she was not putting an end to this discussion.

 

Sparkle leaned against the chair. Her back as straight and tense as someone who feels the imminent need to get defensive and stand to the imaginary height of their supposed antagonist. 

 

Twilight knew how this was going to end. She did not want to hear it. 

 

"Well, it seems that it didn't take you anything to throw me under the bus in order to play heroine in front of your girlfriend." And it did not take anything for Sparkle to reproach things that had happened eight months ago. Even though she had all the right to do so and this was the first time in months they sat down to talk. It was  _ absurd _ . So absurd that now along with the anxious exasperation on the skin, the guilt was dragged up to her chest and the base of her throat.

 

"I'm sorry! Ok? I had a horrible argument with Sunset because of that." They spent more than a week without talking to each other. It had not been the main reason, but a powerful trigger. "I was nervous and I didn’t take into account a lot of stuff, I admit it."

 

She took a heavy gulp from her coffee, with a nervousness so rough that it even hurt to swallow it. But she was losing control of her hands over everything else, either gesticulating too much or stretching the damn skirt of the dress that now did not cover enough skin.

 

Sparkle gave an exaggerated and incredulous snort, without taking it seriously in the least.

 

_ Control, Twilight, control. She's doing it on purpose. _

 

"Yeah, sure. Nervous about what? That she wouldn't take your acting seriously?"

 

Twilight rose with a thud of her palms that lifted the forks a millimeter off the table. 

 

Here she drew the damn line.

 

Sparkle held her gaze in all her adolescent and poisonous rebellion, inviting her to give an answer. Inviting her to the damn fire more horrible than the asphalt snakes on the outside and more potent than the endless flames of Tartarus' infernal heat.

 

Talking to her at such times was like talking to a young reflection. One of eleven or twelve years old, when she answered back to her mother to the maximum provocation to make her show she cared enough to impart a limit, however extreme it might be.

 

It was a double-edged sword, you got that false sensation of having the advantage and the control of the conversation at the cost of destroying your nonexistent self-esteem. Which can always break a little more, right? Who cares?

 

"...Why  _ you _ , out of everyone, don't believe me?"

 

When you live the hell on earth and somehow escape from it, the first tendency is to avoid anything that is similar even in the structural skeleton of its form. 

 

Sparkle was challenging her to show all the possible and concrete proof that, indeed, she had gone through all that she claimed and had survived to tell.

 

"Why is it so hard for you to believe that I also had it bad?" Twilight did not bother to control the rebellious tear that would escape her eyes. She only stared at her counterpart, who got up too.

 

"What do you mean why? You got to have it all so good." Sparkle spoke, nailing without any real force the tip of the fork in her counterparts chest after each word pronounced. Twilight did not flinch, motionless without understanding the words that reached her ears, nor her explosive tone in envy. "Your father is a nice memory, your whole family loves you, you’re popular even in  _ my _ school. God! You are a princess who lives _ alone _ in a crystal castle. How could you  _ possibly _ know how I feel?"

 

Only the noise of the fork crashing into some ceramics on the floor nearby made her blink and look at her in bewilderment.  _ Much _ bewilderment.

 

Did Sparkle really think that she had everything served on a silver platter and still complained about it? Because her already worn misfortune by the things of the life, did not fit in with the ideal she had of her?

 

What?

 

"And what about me? Why do I have the worst?" she reproached her, pointing to herself with a break and a despair in the voice that was reaffirmed in the tremor of her hands, in her expression, in that spark of helplessness that moved quickly between white corneas and violet irises. "Why do I just have to suck it up? Why do I have to settle for the leftovers?  _ It's not fair! _ "

 

Her mug of white ceramic with generic flowers painted in pink and red, broke into about ten or thirty-eight irregular pieces as it flew from the table and fell squarely on the floor. The few cubic centimeters of coffee remaining were scattered around.

 

And Sparkle collapsed. She defragmented like sand on the table, on her arms, on her scars.

 

"It's not fair," she murmured in the suffocation of her own body, between what seemed like a type of crying that only served to accumulate more anguish in the center of the chest.

 

Sparkle could look better, more alive, more like herself. That did not necessarily mean that she  _ was _ better, that she  _ felt _ one hundred percent better. It had been just six months. It was the first approximation to a normality that ended up being  _ strange  _ after years of having to live under a different logic, toxic and even self-destructive. For Twilight more than almost seven damn  _ years _ had passed and there were still emotions that would always be there omnipresent. There were always things that would escape her control.

 

Like now, where the only possible reaction was to move the plate with the cake turned into crumbs like its initial owner. Next to her own half-finished slice that now churned her stomach by just looking at it, for the fear that it also ended up in shards and one of them would get hurt.

 

For some reason, Twilight legs trembled when she tried to move them. She still forced herself to walk around the table and occupy the seat next to Sparkle. For a moment it occurred to her to put a hand at the beginning of her back or perhaps an attempt at a comforting embrace, but it was quite likely that she would also send her flying with an answer of the same nature as the others.

 

Twilight then just fell silent, as if she had just been told a relative died and it was her responsibility to take care of comforting those around her. She must feel bad, too. And Twilight felt bad, she felt like the author of the crime, as if everything had been her fault.

 

“I think it happened a year before entering what you here call elementary school”, was the first thing she managed to say. She was not responsible for what Sparkle believed or stopped believing about her. However, perhaps by showing her that she was mistaking her for an enemy, by showing Sparkle that she was in fact as burned as intended, Twilight could mitigate some of her hatred. Or calm her down, at least. “I don’t remember what I read about storms, but I know there was one that night so I asked my dad to stay with me because I was scared”.

 

Twilight was sure she should be around five or six years old, since she was the only one in her class who could read, write several words and even levitate small objects or perform spells considered difficult for her age. And because she practiced for the entrance exam for Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns. Her desire to learn added to the apparent natural talent that she had with magic and gave her an advantage, but there was no guaranteed vacancy without practice.

 

"I remember he put a spell that made it look like little stars fell from the ceiling. I was so excited that I asked him to do it like ten more times. Later I learned he only did it to cover the one that blocked the sound..." Twilight felt herself get wrapped up in the uncomfortable tingling that provided electric touches all over her body and made her hair stand on end. So familiar, so close, so  _ common _ , that her stomach churned just thinking about it. The nausea was present just thinking about it. "I s-suppose it was by direct association, but after that night I know I hated golden stars and storms made me  _ panic _ ."

 

There were times where Twilight would sneak around before sleeping in her bed. It could be under the latter, a closet, the sofa, or even when she got her first telescope, she stayed on the roof. It had a flat and easily accessible part, which her father himself taught her as the more feasible and clear to observe the sky from the house. She always slipped away with a blanket, a pillow, and her constellation book. She watched the stars until the tiredness forced her to make into a ball and sleep, waking up with the first rays of the sun to stealthily return to her room and pretend she had never moved in the first place.

 

"And, uh, a bit more than… two years ago I told my family." Twilight was not sure if she still lived in Canterlot at that time, why the three of them had met for lunch, or how she had reached the point where shouting seemed a good idea. "Mom slapped me in the face, and told me things I rather not repeat. Shining wasn’t like that, luckily, but it still wasn’t a nice situation."

 

Her mother was the type of always having a different idea of the past, one much more positive and denial of reality. To her, Twilight had the perfect childhood, as if the school citations she had for getting into fights with all the boys of her classes or for odd behaviors had never existed. And since she was a  _ great _ daughter, she tried to overlook all of these illusions most of the time. Until her patience ran out and Twilight ended up remaining her that wearing a smile in a family photo did not mean being one hundred percent happy. When things cannot be avoided, you try to endure them in the best possible way, you keep going, you ignore them, they are hidden during the day until they have to go out again at night.

 

The last argument she had with Velvet had its roots in that very same thing. Twilight had gone to her childhood home in Canterlot to help her mother with a late spring cleaning. The ideas was to spend some time together, clear as much as possible the house and settle the idea of moving to a more comfortable place for a single person.

 

She ended up with totally opposite results when she was forced to explain why she did not want to continue seeing family albums, if all she was going to hear was how happy she looked in a photo with her father all that kind of comments that seemed more justifications than anything else. Twilight had to bring to the surface many sensations, many feelings so that the answer was that she could not let  _ mistakes _ go.

 

“After a while, she apologized for acting that way. Though she still believes I’m being resentful and that “I shouldn’t make a storm out of a glass of water”.

 

The only good thing that had resulted from all that experience, was this. Maybe she would not have deigned to think about her counterpart, maybe she would not have gone to investigate and maybe they would not be sitting here, having an honest conversation six months after absolutely nothing. At least, the dancing chill, the growing anxieties, the discomforts and the bad feelings had somehow served to help someone else. That was what mattered the most.

 

Sparkle lifted her head from her self-imposed darkness, swollen eyes and wet cheeks with anguish that she did not bother to wipe with her forearms as it would prove to be in vain.

 

"Five years?" she whispered under her breath, watching her suspiciously from top to bottom for a moment. Searching desperately for  _ something _ , anything, that proved her right. "Until he died?"

 

Twilight held Sparkle’s gaze with all the anguish blossoming in her chest and memories walking through her arms. It was one of frightful familiarity. One that challenged her until giving up when it did not find the slightest fictitious evidence it was looking for, and whose exaggerated luminosity became blurred between reddened corneas and violet irises. One where the horror of perfect understanding became as present as the twinkling of impotence. Where she saw herself reflected and enveloped between gleams of anguish, between that glimmer of empathy. Between the disgusted resplendence of the own experience.

 

Twilight nodded slowly, almost not finding her voice. 

 

"Until the day before."

 

Sparkle stretched out an arm, with annoying need more than with real desire, to the only coffee mug left on the table. That for sure would be cold and lost its appeal as a drink. She anyway gave it a heavy and audible drink, as if trying to lower something more than simple nausea or loosen a twisted stomach. And she stood still thinking, looking at a particular nothing where apparently all her emotions and thoughts were passing.

 

She stood still thinking for twenty-eight damn counted seconds.

 

"I really thought you had more luck than me." Honesty was palpable, there in her voice, like one who admits defeat and also completely grieves about it. As if the explosion of envy also meant the burial of relief. "I guess in the end we're just as screwed up, aren’t we?"

 

She commented, with a kind of bitter laugh, a smile and more wet cheeks. It made Twilight feel for the first time her own tears fall from the chin to the collarbones. It was strange, since with these sensations was that she alienated herself from her own body and any kind of touch felt far and distant, as if trying to perceive through a thick and invisible layer of numb skin.

 

Twilight stretched a trembling arm to the black marble bar of the kitchen, taking the disposable napkins perfectly folded in triangles. Held between halves of a wooden fish of colors so vibrant and paradoxically more alive than the people in the room.

 

"I'm not here to compete with you." She offered them to Sparkle. White and neat as a sign of truce and openness to negotiations as if were ethnic Han from the Equestrian North in their confrontation with the Southern region. The girl looked at her surprised for a moment, understanding the message, and accepted one with reflected trembling hands to blow her nose.

 

"I know," she muttered once that she seemed to recover her composure a little, with dry cheeks and a more regular breathing. "...I'm sorry I yelled at you like that."

 

That was the signal that Twilight needed to place, slowly, a hand on her counterpart's shoulder. It was strange, she felt like she was freezing, but the heat invading her touch seemed to regulate the temperature of at least part of her body again.

 

"It's okay, I know where it comes from." She shook her head slowly, dismissing unnecessary apologies. It was not as if she were a saint when it came to answering back. That was clearer than water, so accepting them when she had fallen into a game she knew too well, would be something hypocritical on her part. Or at least not very sincere. "You know that I also have a… strong personality. And, uh, better to do catharsis than to keep pushing it down."

 

A hand rested upon her own, alien, hot and sure in the small squeeze that gave hers with, she supposed, a certain level of appreciation.

 

And suddenly that fire spread to her whole body when she received a hug. It was a comfortable in comparison to the shiver that gloated winning to the logical sense and the total and rational control. One that she welcomed with one hand at the base of Sparkle's back and another in the silky smooth hair that Twilight began to caress in the way she knew was effectively reassuring. One that gave her warmth, like those hugs that are given with such affection that they do not want to be undone. 

 

"Thank you." She felt, somewhere close to her ears. "For everything."

 

And after what seemed like an hour, Tartarus’ infinite heat and the snakes made of flame that went from the inside to the outside, Twilight felt the corners of her lips rise and her eyes moistened again.

  
"I’ll do it again a hundred times."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hate me.


End file.
